Fire and Ice
by DefyGravity18
Summary: A young novelist comes to Paris in search of information about the Phantom of the Opera. A reclusive rake with a dark past is determined to drive her out of Paris and out of his life. Can the two get past their differences to form an unbreakable bond?
1. Evangeline

**This is my new Phan Phiction, I'm going for a completely different approach. This story is very violent and sex driven, and is ABSOLUTELY not Christine/Erik. There is also foul language and graphic images. So if you are looking for a fluffy, romantic Christine/Erik story, this is not for you. Enjoy. **

** Syd (DefyGravity18)**

* * *

** November, 1871**

**Paris**

The shadowy figure of a young woman stepped out of a carriage in the middle of the night and into the vacant street. She wore the look of exhaustion, yet her eyes sparkled with interest as she took in her quiet surroundings. A demure cap of lace covered her rust colored hair and a small spread of freckles covered her nose. A simple white shawl adorned her shoulders, covering the gray traveling dress she wore. Worn leather boots sat on her feet. A valet came from within the modest hotel and took her bags for her before leading her into the hotel. Calmly, she requested a room, paying quickly before she was taken to her domain for the night. The concierge had regarded her with an odd look upon his face, for it was extremely odd for a young lady to come into the hotel unaccompanied after dusk.

The young woman stood in her room and began to undress, travel weary and anxious. Pulling off her lace cap, she unpinned the plaited coil at the nape of her neck and let the ruddy, dark hair fall down her back in a long braid. As she stared at her reflection, Evangeline Lambourne sighed, pulling a nightgown out of her valise before undressing and getting ready for bed. She had come from Le Havre to Paris in order to do research for her latest novel. Evangeline had been writing novels since the age of eighteen, with two published to her assumed name already. Now, at age twenty-three, even though she was considered a reclusive spinster, she felt an immense sense of accomplishment that many women would never have the pleasure of knowing.

Her four sisters and mother all agreed that Evie was the black sheep of their family, and, even though she gladly helped around the house and considered herself a good, obedient daughter, she had always hoped for more while her sisters were content to live as wives and mothers. Two of her sisters had already married, one with children. Her closest sister, Bianca, was being courted and Fern, the youngest, was a mere fifteen. Cadence was the eldest at twenty-seven, followed by Bethany, who was twenty-five. Their mother Giselle had been widowed during her pregnancy with her fifth child and had been left to the task of raising five young girls alone.

The Lambourne family was not wealthy, nor were they considered poor, but since their father Remus had passed suddenly of an unknown cause, money had been scarce. Evie even suspected that Giselle had done some unseemly things to keep them afloat, though she would never voice her theories to her sisters. At the age of eighteen, Evie sent her first finished manuscript to a publisher in Paris and had received a letter months later telling her that her novel was to be printed. The money from that had helped greatly, but had sadly not lasted long enough for them to live comfortably. Fern still wore childish pinafores which were far too short to be called proper for a young woman of fifteen. All of the girls wore hand-me-downs from their older sisters, which had thrice turned fabrics and looked shabby. Evie envied the aristocratic people who took their privileged lives for granted, buying new dresses every day. The women no doubt wore silk stockings and jeweled shoes on their rose scented feet.

Evangeline eyed her own stockings lying on the ground. They were soiled, run in and had stains all over them. Her boots were so old that the leather was thinning and the soles were detaching from the shoe itself. A new hope had crept into Evie's heart when she'd read a recent story in the paper about the recent disasters at the Opera Populaire in Paris. The deformed recluse who had lived in the bowels of the opera had become obsessed with a young soprano and had taken out his devastation over her rejection by dropping the large chandelier during a performance, killing three patrons.

An idea had formed as she decided to begin writing her newest novel loosely following the story of this so-called Phantom of the Opera. It had been the following week that she had made arrangements with a Madame and Monsieur Lacoeur to stay with them. Unfortunately, her carriage had hit a snag, breaking a wheel in an unexpected bout of bad weather, causing them to get into Paris just before midnight. Not wanting to disturb the elderly couple, she had opted to spend the night in the hotel before taking a hansom to their town house on the Rue de Verger.

Her first interview was to be with a Monsieur Firmin and Monsieur Andre, who owned and managed the opera house together. She was to come to the opera house during the dress rehearsal the following afternoon. Messieurs Firmin and Andre had seemed very enthusiastic about her decision to write about their institution and had offered her a free ticked to the play_Aida _in their private box as well.

As the final effects of lethargy sunk in, she let herself lay back into the clean linens of the bed, turning out the lamp on the bedside table. Before she said her prayers, she thought of Giselle, who no doubt had found the meager note left in her room. Evie grinned ruefully as she imagined the look on her mother's face when she realized her third child had run off to Paris to write another novel. Giselle had made no attempt to hide her disapproval of the profession and encouraged Evie to give up writing to become a suitable wife and mother as her sisters had. It had caused more than a disagreement or two between them as Evangeline had vehemently defended her life's passion. Giselle would never understand, having been raised to be nothing more than someone's wife, she believed that a woman's purpose was to accommodate her husband's needs before her own.

Not that Evangeline didn't adore her mother and admire her for raising five children alone without a single complaint, she sometimes felt frustrated at her failure to see eye to eye with her mother. It was simply the fact that, for some selfish reason, Evie felt she was destined to be more than a country wife and mother. Even her father, whose face was becoming less clear to Evie with each passing yet, had always told her she was different and that she would change the world one day. She liked to believe that, and it was his voice that kept her focused on her goals. Vowing that when she finally reached the success she deserved, she would buy her mother a new house and provide her younger sisters with the things they had lacked such as proper clothing and undergarments. Fern and Bianca were both well developed young girls without a proper corset and chemise to wear under their clothes to contain them.

Closing her eyes, Evie clasped her hands beneath her chin and began to pray.

"Dear Lord…please help me to find what I am looking for…" She stopped, biting her lip. "If only I knew what it was I was seeking…Amen." Finishing, she pulled the covers around herself and allowed herself to sink into the comfort of a warm bed.

Monsieur and Madame Lacouer received her kindly, showing her to her room and allowing her to bathe and dress in privacy before her interview at the opera. Monsieur Firmin had told her he would send a private carriage for her to take to the venue. As it turned out, it was the finest carriage she had ever seen, with a plush interior and a foot warmer. She felt guilty, experiencing such luxury while her family wondered where she'd gone. Two older gentleman waited for her on the pavement outside the grand building. One was considerably shorter than the other and had gray hair, while the other had black hair which was streaked with silver. They wore the look of someone oblivious to the rest of the world.

"Mademoiselle Lambourne." The taller of the two said, as a footman helped her step down.

"Monsieur…?" She began, unsure of which was which. The man smiled, extending his hand to her.

"Firmin…this is my partner, Gene Andre." He added, gesturing to the other man and offering his arm.

"A pleasure to meet the both of you, I'm sure." She said graciously, taking the man's arm and allowing him to walk her inside. Staring up at the beautiful, but looming building, a small thrill raced through her and something inside her just knew that terrible and interesting things had happened inside.

The lobby inside was even more spectacular than the exterior with expansive gleaming marble floors, a grand staircase and polished gold statues. The staircase split and formed two balconies overlooking the lobby, which was furnished with plush settees and chairs. A few maids stood around, pausing in their work to study the plainly dressed visitor with mild interest. She was led into an office with two cherry wood desks and leather chairs. A small vial of ink sat on the edge of one of the desks, which was very neat and organized. The other desk, however was a pile of disarrayed papers and pens, making Evie smile briefly at the difference in the managers' temperaments.

"I suppose I shall cut right to the chase, gentlemen…what was your first experience with the Phantom of the Opera?" She asked, holding her notepad and pen at the ready, her reading glasses perched on her nose. The taller gentleman began.

"We were in the scrap metal business you see…when a colleague of ours told us he was retiring and selling the opera house." Monsieur Firmin said. "Naturally, I saw it as an opportunity to expand our horizons. So I proposed the idea to Gene, who agreed wholeheartedly since the scrap metal business was not up to standards."

"Monsieur LeFevre was eager to retire, so we owned the opera within the month. We managed to secure a wealthy patron, I'm sure you've read about the Chagny family…"

Evangeline nodded, scribbling furiously in her notepad.

"Yes, I had read that the Vicomte de Chagny had gotten engaged recently and it mentioned his patronage in the article." She replied.

"Yes well, as soon as we arrived, we began to hear this nonsensical talk about a ghost causing problems in the opera house." Andre interjected as Firmin took over.

"Of course, we thought it to be bollocks, dismissing the claims of Madame Giry, who said…"

"Madame Giry?" She asked, quickly. The man nodded.

"Our ballet mistress of course…" Firmin replied. "She was reading a note that was supposedly from the blasted ghost, saying he requested a salary! Of all things!"

"Not only that," Andre added, "But he ordered us to leave the most desirable seat in the house open for his use!"

"I see…" Evie replied, trying to get all of that down as she listened to the men go back and forth.

"On top of all this! The damned back drop nearly killed our leading soprano, Carlotta Guidicelli…" Firmin's face grew red with the memory of it.

"So in a fit of temper, she walked out, leaving us with virtually no understudy and a performance only hours away…" Andre countered.

"Thankfully, one of the chorus ballerinas knew the role and could sing it…Christine Daae…"

"The viscount's fiancée?" Evangeline asked with new interest.

"Yes." Firmin affirmed. "It seems the Phantom had some sort of fixation with her…though I could have sworn that it was the Vicomte who was vouching for her. We'd thought he'd taken her as a mistress, you see…it's not uncommon for aristocratic men to take women of performing professions…"

"Yes Monsieur," Evie interrupted, holding her hand up. "I am perfectly aware of the corruption in society. Do go on…" She said. As she listened to the rest of the managers' story, ideas began to form in her head like wildfire. A man born with half a face, scorned by society…falls in love with a young ballerina and then…"

"Yes that would be splendid!" Monsieur Andre replied, bringing her out of her thoughts. "What do you think Mademoiselle?" Vaguely, she looked at the gentlemen over her thin framed spectacles.

"About what, Monsieur?" He smiled.

"You will attend the gala tonight, won't you?" He implored. A blush heated her cheeks as she shook her head.

"I couldn't…I'm afraid I don't have decent attire, and…"

"Nonsense! What a silly reason not to attend!" Firmin intruded as if fine dresses were no more than petty spending. "The local dressmaker is a dear friend. I'm sure she could lend you a decent gown…Andre!" He barked at his partner, who jumped in response. "Fetch Madame Giry!" The man nodded and left the room as Evie began to pack her notepad into her reticule. Moments later, the diminutive manager returned with a red haired woman who looked to be about forty.

"Monsieur Firmin?" She asked quizzically.

"Ah, Antoinette! I have a favor to ask of you…" He replied, pouring himself a drink. "Could you accompany Mademoiselle Lambourne to Lady Priscilla's dress shop to borrow a gown for this evening? She didn't bring a proper ball gown for the gala."

The woman studied her with a curious look on her face, but her blue eyes were warm and there was a maternal kindness in them.

"We'll see what we can do, Monsieur." Madame Giry replied, beckoning for Evie to follow her. "How old are you dear?"

"Three and twenty, Madame." She replied shyly.

"What a positively innocent face you have, child. You don't look a day over seventeen." The woman said, as a warmth flowed through her. "What is your first name?"

"Evangeline." Her voice was small as she followed the stately woman out into the lobby.

"Wait for me here. I'm going to instruct the ballet chorus to retreat into the dance hall. My daughter Marguerite will accompany us." Her voice was so resolute, Evie couldn't imagine anyone ever intimidating her or questioning her. Pulling on her bonnet and cloak, she smoothed the rumpled layers of her raggedy day dress, noticing a hole in the finger of her glove. Self conscious, she closed her hand to hide it, ashamed of it and yet, strangely proud that she was one of the few women who had a career, unsuccessful as it had been.

The woman and a small blonde appeared minutes later, wearing traveling clothes and cloaks. A flush made Evie's cheeks red as she realized their clothes were finer than her own.

"This is my daughter Meg." Madame Giry explained, directing them out onto the Rue Scribe to find a hansom cab.

"Pleasure to meet you." Evangeline said, nodding kindly to the small girl.

"Likewise…" She said meekly. "You remind me of my sister, but your hair is more fiery." She added, making Evie blush again. She had inherited the reddish tint of her father's Auburn hair, earning her the pet name "Rusty" from her sisters.

"Marguerite!" Madame Giry scolded, giving Evie an apologetic look.

"You have another daughter?" She asked politely. The woman nodded.

"A foster daughter. Christine. She is the same age as Meg." She explained as Evie's ears pricked at the name. Christine…surely not the same as Christine Daae. "Her father, Gustave Daae, the violinist…he died of consumption nine years ago. Our families had been close and as Christine's mother had died and they had no other family to speak of, I took the girl in and raised her here." A cab pulled to the side of the road, and the driver hopped down to help them inside.

The ride to Lady Priscilla's was short and Evie insisted on paying the cab fare, much to Madame Giry's protests. Truthfully, she really shouldn't spend frivolously, but her pride had gotten the better of her. The dress shop was luxurious, with fine fabrics draped everywhere and plush pink carpeting adorning the floor. Lady Priscilla was a red faced, stout woman with a haughty look to her.

"Madame Giry!" She said in surprise. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Lady Priscilla, my employer, Monsieur Firmin asked that I bring Mademoiselle Evangeline Lambourne to your shop to borrow a dress and proper undergarments for tonight's gala at the opera. You will be attending of course?" She added.

"But of course." Lady Priscilla replied, moving to Evie and scrutinizing every inch of her, making her feel as though she were on display. "Your complexion is very fair, and pink won't do for you…no, I think green. You must wear green my dear." With a triumphant look at Madame Giry, the heavyset woman disappeared into another room.

"She's very proud of her work." Madame Giry explained.

"An admirable quality." Evie said sincerely. "I do so adore a woman who takes pride in what she does." Smiling at Meg, the girl seemed to fight her conscience.

"What brings you to the opera Mademoiselle Lambourne?" She asked innocently. Evie smiled benignly at her.

"I am writing a novel…about the Phantom of the opera." She said easily as the girl turned white and gasped.

"Y-you _are_?"

"Yes…it will be fictional, of course, but based on the facts I find out." She replied. Madame Giry's eyes grew dark.

"Do you really think that wise, my dear?" She asked. Evie looked at her in confusion.

"What's the harm?" She asked honestly, bemused as to what could possibly come of a silly novel. The woman did not have the chance to reply, however, for Lady Priscilla returned with a pile of emerald green, adorned with beads.

"It looks like I'll hardly have to alter it at all…" She said proudly, obviously displaying her knowledge of the woman's form. "Your more full in this area…" She added, gesturing to Evie's breasts.

"I'm sorry…" She began, but the woman clicked her tongue.

"Nonsense! Women would kill for your looks, dear! Here then, try it on…" Obliging, Evie allowed the woman to help her try on the dress, which was nearly a perfect fit, but for the fact it was a bit long. In the end, Evie ended up with silk stockings, garters, and a pristine white corset.

Hours later, while Evie was preparing to go to the opera at the Lacoeur's home, across town in a newly built estate sat a man at his desk, pouring over paperwork. A half empty glass of brandy sat near him as his factotum, Dag Holden waited for acknowledgement from his employer.

"Sir, a woman is here to see you." He replied. The man looked up, his stare as cold as ice.

"Cressida, Lady Remy?" He inquired with interest.

"No sir, a Madame Giry." Holden replied nervously. With a curt nod, the employer gestured for her to be sent in.

"Well, well, well…look at you." The man eyed his guest with hard eyes.

"Antoinette, what is it?" He asked, devoid of emotion.

"I never would have guessed it." She said, looking around the room. "You certainly do have a taste for the finer things in life." Her voice was mocking, irritating him.

"What the devil do you want Antoinette?" He growled. "Is she pregnant?" Antoinette stared at him as if he were a stranger to her.

"No. I'm not here to report on Christine. Though, I'm told she and her husband are touring the continent." The woman sighed. "I hear you've taken up with Lady Remy." She replied, a hint of disgust in her voice. "You were never one for sins of the flesh, Erik."

"You mind your business and I'll mind mine Annie." He said, returning to his paperwork.

"Fine." Antoinette replied harshly. "I just thought you might like to know a young woman is sniffing around the opera to do research on a novel she's writing…about the Phantom of the Opera."

"Who is she?" He asked, his eyes narrowed.

"Her name is Evangeline Lambourne." Antoinette said quietly. "She's twenty-three…from Le Havre. That's all I know other than she is the guest of the managers at the gala performance of _Aida _tonight." Walking to look out the window, Antoinette sighed. "The strange thing is, I think she's poor. She tries not to let on, but she had to borrow a dress from Lady Priscilla's…" Erik stood, smoothing his hair and straightening his cravat.

"I shall investigate the matter myself. In fact, this very minute, I intend to send Holden to Priscilla's and have her send over three more dresses as well as stockings, shoes, unmentionables and the like."

"But why?" Antoinette asked, turning to stare at him. He peered down at her arrogantly.

"I'm going to woo her…then I'm going to find out what the fuck she wants with me and send her back to Le Havre. I don't need spinster novelists sniffing around my private life." He said dismissively. "Holden!" He called, waiting patiently for the factotum and drinking the remainder of his brandy.

"Yes sir?" The man asked breathlessly.

"I need you to run an errand for me. I've written down the orders. Take this to Lady Priscilla's dress shop." Antoinette stared at him with an odd look on her face.

"Who _are_ you?" She asked in a whisper. Ignoring her, he added.

"Also, send a note to Cressida and tell her I can't see her tonight." Holden nodded and left the room.

"Sleeping with married women is not going to rid you of your heartache over Christine…I know you love her…"

"I _do not _fucking_ love_ her!" He roared, losing his icy composure. "And you can go to hell if you think otherwise! Now, go and meddle in someone else's affairs because I have work to do, damn you!" He heard her leave as he fought to retain his calm. Pouring himself another drink, he said, "You can go to the devil too Christine Daae."


	2. Meeting the Devil

**I sincerely hope you are enjoying it...thank you to the reviewers and story alerts. So...it's starting a bit slow, but it will pick up. I promise. All of this build is necessary to show you exactly who Erik has become. **

* * *

The opera was unlike anything Evie had ever seen, beautiful and heart wrenching. A lump formed in her throat as the lovers sang their final duet as they were buried within the tomb to die in each others' arms. In all her life, she couldn't have dreamed a love so pure as that of Radames and Aida. The opera received a standing ovation, which it well deserved and the two leads were superb. She was escorted into the main lobby in which the gala was taking place by Monsieur Andre as Monsieur Firmin's wife had attended with him tonight. She was a robust, pleasant woman, if not a bit vague. Still, Evie's mind had been scattered throughout the night as a most peculiar thing had occurred before she'd left for the opera.

Three beautiful dresses had been delivered anonymously to the Lacoeur's house for her with undergarments and new shoes. She had to assume it had been one of the managers as Madame Giry certainly did not have the means to spend money on her with the carelessness of a wealthy person. The dresses were made of the finest silks and velvets, each immaculately one of a kind. A small note had been sent with them.

_Enjoy these. They are a gift as is the green dress you wear. I shall like to speak with you at the gala tonight. _

That was the extent of it. Now, as Evie stood beside the managers, she decided to express her gratitude.

"Monsieur Andre. The dresses were a very kind gesture from the two of you…" She began but he looked blankly at her.

"Dresses? What do you mean?" He leaned over to his partner. "Richard, do you know anything about dresses?" Firmin looked at her quizzically and shook his head.

"If you didn't send them…who did?" She asked.

A pair of green eyes watched her from the corner of the lobby, where he stood in conversation with two of his investors.

"The factory has to accommodate at least two hundred people…wouldn't you say Lawson?" One man was saying.

"Yes." Lawson agreed. "What do you think Destler? Can you build it?"

"Gentlemen, speak with Holden to arrange a meeting. I'm afraid I have other business to attend to tonight." He replied irritably. Antoinette had confirmed the girl in green was indeed the spinster authoress. In looks, she was the complete opposite of Cressida, who was tall, slender and golden as the sun, whereas this girl was small in stature and had a full bosom and hips, which were accented brilliantly by a miniscule waist. Her hair was the a rusty brown tint, not classically chocolate brown like Christine's had been. _Christine…_the one he'd fought to forget by rising to unfathomable heights in fortune and success. The one he'd taken from his mind by beginning torrid affairs with married women. The sex was a welcome distraction as he found release by screwing the most desirable women in Paris, Cressida being his latest interest.

Cressida Remy was married to a seventy year old duke and, being thirty herself, had found her pleasures with numerous men as her husband was an invalid in a wheelchair. She was every bit as cold as Erik was, self servicing and emotionally detached. Their arrangement was perfect, in fact, and there was nothing she wasn't willing to do. He could scarcely believe he'd ever believed in a fable such as true love when lust was so much more convenient.

Yet, as he stared at the young novelist across the room, a strange feeling of familiarity tingled in the pit of his stomach and from a distance; she looked quite similar to Christine…_No! Christine could be lying dead somewhere and I don't give a damn…I don't give a God damn about anyone…never again._

Evangeline saw him coming toward her through the crowd and a feeling of anxiety rippled through her as she fought the desire to back away. He was ominous and beautiful, all at once, his face finely chiseled and his ebony hair neatly slicked back. He was tall and thick with muscle, but the strange thing was the mask. Half of his face was covered by a white leather mask.

"Mademoiselle Lambourne?" He inquired, the charming tone in his voice completely contradicting the lack of emotion in his eyes.

"Y-yes…?" She asked with trepidation. He smiled, revealing straight, perfectly white teeth.

"I'm Monsieur Destler, I was informed you were doing research for a novel and being something of an artist in my own right, I thought you may have need of some gowns."

"How did you know?" She asked in a frightened whisper, searching for the managers frantically.

"Word gets around, my dear. My friend Antoinette Giry told me of your problem, and I know how it can be…"

"What do you want in return?" Her voice quivered, satisfying him greatly.

"Oh but you are an innocent." He chuckled. "I'd like to invite you to my estate…I am quite knowledgeable of the opera too."

"Can you tell me anything about the opera ghost?" She asked suspiciously. Another laugh left him.

"I think I could manage a fact or two." He said, leaning to kiss her hand. "I shall send a carriage for you in the morning." Her eyes widened as she realized he wasn't giving her a choice in the matter.

"I…I would like that." She stammered in agreement.

"Good." He said quietly, his eyes glinting with victory. "We'll say around ten." He added, kissing her hand once more. "Enjoy your evening, Mademoiselle." His voice purred with seduction as she watched him leave, shaking still.

"Are you alright dear girl? You look positively peaked." Monsieur Andre said, returning to her side.

* * *

Erik sensed her in the room before he entered it, as he loosened his cravat and removed his tailored coat.

"I thought I told you not to come tonight." He replied, annoyed that someone would disregard his orders.

"Where's the fun in_that_?" She purred, rising from his bed already naked.

"Perhaps I brought another girl home tonight." He said impatiently. A tinkling giggle filled the room.

"Oh Erik…don't play games…I know you too well, and you haven't tired of me yet." She replied, her hands sliding up his arms.

"Cressida..." He said warningly.

"You won't send me home." She said confidently. "You want this too much." Placing his hand on her breast, he let out a snarl between lust and frustration. Her eyes fell to his roaring arousal. "It took you long enough…why did you even stay?" She asked, leaning up to kiss his throat. Unbuttoning his shirt, he discarded it.

"I had to take care of some business. I had to secure a meeting for tomorrow morning." He didn't bother to tell her it was with a woman since Cressida was known for her possessive nature.

"And here I've been waiting all night for you and that cock of yours…Christ Erik, all I have to do is think of you and I'm wet."

"Control yourself, you wonton little slut…" He purred at her, his eyes dark with lust. She smirked.

"Call me what you like if it gets you off, Erik." She grinned, pulling him by the waist of his pants to the lush, high bed. As Cressida laid on her back, open for him, he could not help wondering what the tiny voluptuous body of Mademoiselle Lambourne would look like spread over his silk comforter this way. The way her mouth would part in pleasure as he took her…

"Turn over." He ordered, moving Cressida so that she was face down and pulling her to the edge of the bed so that she was bent. With the swiftness of a panther, he brought her hips high and plunged into her with unbridled lust. A shriek of pleasure left her as she arched her spine, allowing him deeper access. Closing his eyes, he leaned over her, bracing himself on his hands. "Christine…" He moaned into her hair, as she panted heavily before he felt her tightening around him in climax. With a rough intensity, he pulled out of her and spilled his contents onto her smooth buttocks. Abruptly, he pulled away from her, standing naked beside the bed as he picked up her discarded clothes.

"Cressida, you've had your fuck…now get out of my house and go home to your decrepit husband."

Her eyes were wide with surprise.

"What's gotten into you?" She asked, pulling her chemise on.

"I've had my fill of you for the night…not to mention, I told you I didn't want you to come tonight…" He hissed at her, moving to pour himself a glass of brandy.

"What if I don't want to leave?" She challenged. He turned his biting gaze on her.

"Then I will throw you out, you insufferable little bitch!" He spat, finally inducing a spark of fear in her blue eyes. Without another sound, she finished dressing and left him to his devices. Pulling on his black silk robe, he sat on his bed with his drink and stared into the amber liquid.

"Sir?" Erik looked up to see Holden standing there.

"What is it?" He asked impatiently.

"Lady Remy left so suddenly, I was just…" The man began. Erik sighed.

"Everything is fine." He assured. "Leave me." Holden did not hesitate to oblige. A single tear threatened to fall from his eye as he whispered. "Christine."

* * *

"Right this way Mademoiselle." Evie followed the young manservant into an elaborate parlor. "The master will be with you shortly. He's attending to an issue in the kitchen." She nodded and sat uncomfortably in her least ragged day dress, her feet aching in the old leather boots. She'd pinned the lace cap back onto her head and her spectacles sat perched on her slender nose. Curiously, she studying the room which was decorated with numerous paintings, one of a sunset over the water, another showed a blurry image of a woman. It was clear that Monsieur Destler was appreciative of fine artwork.

"I bought that when I traveled to Italy this summer." A strong masculine voice came from the door. Embarrassed, she spun around in fear.

"M-Monsieur Destler…forgive me, I wasn't…"

"Relax. I won't bite…yet." He said with a glint in his eyes. She shrunk back instinctively hugging her arms around herself. "So…you want to know about the Phantom of the Opera?" He asked, giving her the vague feeling he was mocking her.

"Yes…the matter interests me greatly and…and I think it would make a great story…" She said, eyeing him cautiously. His head was tilted speculatively as if he were trying to devour her with his eyes.

"What a delectable little innocent you are." He said acidly. "What do you want to know?"

"Well, for starters…what do you know about Christine Daae?" She asked and his face tightened visibly.

"I don't know her at all." He said quickly, his voice sharp as a razor. "Ask about anything else."

The warning tone in his voice unnerved her.

"I...alright. What do you know about the Phantom then?" She asked, holding her notepad weakly under his stony glare.

"He was nothing but a man…a very foolish man who thought he loved a silly little chorus girl." He said decisively. Biting her lip, she wrote quickly. "They say he lived below the opera…"

"Below? How is that possible…?" She asked. He grinned ferociously.

"Why, the legend is that there is an underground lake below the opera house. You must know there are secret tunnels and passageways all throughout." He added. Her eyes widened.

"Really?" She asked with the curiosity of a child on Christmas. He nodded, smiling at her.

"He kept his home there…the tunnel were his means of stealth, you see."

"But, why?" She asked. Leaning forward, he forced her to stare into his green eyes.

"Because dear girl, he was so deformed that society had damned him to a life of solitude." Something in his eyes provoked fear in her and she blinked rapidly to keep her calm.

"Deformed…how?" She continued, balancing her pen gracefully between her slender fingers.

"Half of his face you see…it didn't form properly. He wore a mask…" He seemed to get some perverse pleasure as she stared at him with her eyes wide, yet she was determined.

"Monsieur Destler…" She began, removing her spectacles to reveal eyes the color of a summer sky. "Are you the Phantom of the Opera?" He stared at her, his face unreadable.

"No." He said finally. "That man is dead."

"But, the mask…" Her voice was weak.

"I have my reasons for wearing it." With his eyes blazing at her, he added, "No more questions." Pursing her lips, she closed her notepad and set it aside, cleaning her glasses.

"How did you do it?" She asked with renewed courage. Turning back to face her, he had raised an eyebrow.

"Do what?" He asked moodily.

"How did you get away with it? How is it that you are able to mingle with fine society?" A smirk passed over his chiseled features.

"Clever little minx…" He cooed at her, and she shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. "Sorry to disappoint love, but that man was not me…" Coming closer to her, he cornered her against a wall, bracing an arm beside her head and leaning over her, causing a shadow over her pale face. "If it_was_ however…let me only say that there is nothing that money can't buy, and I have enough of it to last a lifetime. Even the managers are too money hungry to care anymore."

"You're wrong." She said finally, her voice but a murmur.

"I'm never wrong darling." He said, using his other hand to smooth his perfectly slicked hair back.

"Money doesn't buy everything…" Her voice was full of pity. "It doesn't buy happiness." Ducking under his arm, she picked up her reticule and cloak.

"_You're _wrong…" He said menacingly as she was preparing to leave. "It can and _will_ buy happiness…just look around, you foolish girl! There's nothing I can't offer. Nothing out of my reach…"

"You can't buy love." She said, again with the disgusting pity. He scowled at her, his beautiful face becoming ugly with hatred.

"Love is a myth, Minx. Learn it now before you retain any illusions. Lust is much more convenient." A new resolution seemed to come to him as his voice changed back into the coaxing purr. "I would be more than willing to show you…" Her eyes flashed with offense.

"I am not some fool girl who will settle for being a rich man's mistress…I won't help you run from your feelings Monsieur. I still have some semblance of pride." With a look of satisfaction, she added, "Money cannot buy everything…I cannot be bought." She left then, the click of her heels echoing through the empty foyer before the door opened and closed again.

* * *

"My lady, I have word…" The manservant said, beseeching his employer. The woman smiled serenely, the emerald jewels gleaming around her throat.

"And?" She asked in a cultivated, silken voice.

"A young lady was seen leaving his estate not thirty minutes ago…Mr. Holden, his factotum told me her name was Lambourne and she was from Le Havre. She's a novelist. Other than that, he would tell me nothing about her."

"Find out more Jennings. I want answers and I fucking pay you well enough." She ordered haughtily, furious with Erik. "How dare him go behind my back with some…country bumpkin!" Jennings bowed slightly before fleeing the room as she poured a glass of scotch for herself out of her husband's collection.

"Cressida, my sweet…" The sound of wheels creaked into the room and Cressida turned reluctantly to her ancient husband.

"My lord." She said with false respect.

"We must converse my wife…" He said, beckoning for her to sit. She did so obediently, holding her scotch in her hand. "This excessive spending…the jewels, the furs, the luxuries…it must stop." Cressida stared at the old man in contempt.

"What are you talking about, we have enough money to…"

"No dearest, we don't. Our fortune is quickly dwindling…" He answered gravelly. Her eyes widened. "We must stop spending now to preserve what is left so that my son can rebuild it when he inherits my title."

"Damn you and damn your idiot son!" She screamed, storming from the room away from the sagging old codger she had married.

* * *

"Would it be alright if I just watched the rehearsal for a bit…I'd like to see how things work behind the scenes?" Evie explained to Madame Giry, who nodded before returning to teaching the girls their next formation. Evangeline's mind raced as she took notes on how the girls moved, ballet terms and the attire. Her heart rate had finally returned to normal after meeting with Monsieur Destler in his home, and she vowed to avoid him at all costs. Everything in Paris was so mysterious…a sudden wash of homesickness flooded her and she thought of Giselle, who was probably planning how to slowly kill Evie at this moment.

Staring down at her notepad, she realized she had only filled half a page. With a resigned sigh, she rose to explore the opera house itself for descriptive purposes. Behind the stage was a long corridor with various dressing rooms and storage closets. Directly to the right once leaving the stage was a vast costume room with a winding metal staircase that obviously led to the roof. Above, numerous catwalks went in different directions along with ropes and chains. Beyond the dressing room corridor, was another corridor which led to the dormitories. Remembering Monsieur Destler's words, she felt along the wall for secret openings but it seemed that there was nothing but stone.

Returning back to the beginning of the dressing room corridor, she noticed the name on the first door said, "Arabella." Without thinking, she tried the doorknob and the door swung open, revealing a room decorated in various pinks and mauves. A fainting couch sat in the corner of the room near a wardrobe. Built into the wall beside the vanity was a full length mirror with a gold frame. For the first time that day, Evie saw her own reflection and cringed at the threadbare look of her clothes. Her hair was straying from the pins and flying out from under her lace cap. Her glasses made her look a school matron of thirty.

Reaching out her hand, the worn glove barely even providing cover for the smooth skin beneath she touched her reflection, not recognizing the woman she saw. Once, Evangeline had been a girl who always let her long chestnut hair fly wildly behind her while she ran with her sisters through the house and yard. At night, they would listen for the sound of ships in the distance coming into the port while Papa had told stories about mermaids. The girls would sit for hours, staring at the sea and waiting for some sign that the mermaids were real. Once, they had seen a distant fin in the distance and that had been proof enough in their eyes.

Now, Papa was long dead and the girls had gone in their separate directions. Cadence had married at twenty to a local boy and had two children. Bethany had married four years earlier and was pregnant. Evie had chosen to write, much to her mother's dismay. Bianca was only eighteen and barely of a marriageable age, while Fern was at the age where she was no longer a child, but not a woman. Most men lost any interest in Evie when they learned that she was career oriented, but it did not bother her. Writing was the dearest thing in the world to her and if no one could accept it, then she would simply have to resign herself to a lifetime alone. It wouldn't be horrible, she thought, I would have my freedom.

In her memories, Evie hadn't heard the small clicks nor had she felt the glass give way beneath her fingers, but as she focused again, she realized that the glass had pulled back from the gold frame. Curiosity got the better as her as she urged her fingers into the slight opening. To her surprise, the glass slide easily to the right and into the wall, revealing a dark, long unused corridor. A small thrill raced through her veins as she realized this must be one of the secret passageways Monsieur Destler had spoken of, confirming further her suspicions that he had been the evasive Phantom. Driven by some unknown force, she felt herself walk forward into the dank passageway, but she was stopped by a hand on her shoulder. Whirling about, she found herself looking into the blue eyes of the ballet mistress.

"Evangeline?" She inquired. Evie flushed in embarrassment.

"Oh dear! I'm sorry! I was just exploring and then…this opened and I couldn't help myself…" She sighed. "I'm sorry."

"No need to apologize dear." Madame Giry said, closing the mirror and guiding her from the room. "I just would hate for you to get hurt. This building holds many secrets and traps."

"Traps?" Evie heard herself ask.

"Yes. To protect his secret, the Phantom set up booby traps everywhere. A few people were never seen again because of them." She explained warningly. "Choose wisely where you venture alone in this building Evangeline." Evie nodded, feeling sick.

"I…I think I should return to the Lacoeur's and lie down." Madame Giry nodded sympathetically.

"It's a lot to take in." She agreed, escorting her toward the lobby. A hansom stopped right away, helping the distressed young woman in. Madame Lacoeur smiled at her expectantly when she walked into the house.

"Ah, Evangeline. This just arrived for you with the post." A slim white envelope was gripped in the woman's hand. Gingerly, Evie took it, recognizing Giselle's handwriting and sighing inwardly. She had known Giselle would write to her after finding the address, but she hadn't thought it would be so soon. Swiftly, she took the letter to her room and sat on the bed, reading.

_Evangeline, _

_I can't say that I am happy with your decision to leave without notice. You scared me and your younger sisters to death. I thought you had been kidnapped, or worse! I sincerely hope this novel notion of yours is worth it and I pray that you will grow out of this need to reject all of the things you were taught. _

_That said, I miss you dearly, my Evie and will wait for your safe return. The house is so empty without your laughter, my girl. _

_All my love, _

_Mother_

There were three spots at the bottom of the letter, though Evie couldn't say whose tears they were. Folding the note, she let herself cry into the pillow on her bed.

* * *

Erik was drunk. There was no other way to describe his state as he barked orders at his servants. He'd been agitated all day and had an itch like he'd never known. His mind burned with the need to consume the nosy little chit that had been trying to interfere in his past. He wasn't sure whether he wanted to slap her or bend her over the sofa and fuck her pretty little brains out. The latter was what had been plaguing him all day. After her insolent little presumption, he wanted nothing more than to drag her upstairs to his bed and prove to her just how easy it was to buy happiness.

"You look like hell." The smooth female voice said. Erik turned to see Cressida standing in the doorway of his bedroom wearing a low cut scarlet gown, a ruby necklace sitting prettily on her small, but perky breasts. Her hair looked like spun gold, pinned elegantly with a fashionable hat perched on her head. "Are you done brooding and ready to take me back into your bed, Erik?" She cooed. He did not respond, only stared at her. "Let me take care of you darling…" She said, moving toward him. He leaned to kiss her, but she pulled back. "But first, I want you to tell me who the little bitch that visited you earlier was."

"No one." He said quietly, reaching for her again.

"I don't share, Erik." She said staunchly.

"Apparently, your husband does." He replied acidly. She smiled, revealing perfect teeth.

"My husband barely had an erection for our wedding night. He hardly has a choice in the matter." A new look of anger came to her eyes. "And now, he's squandered our fortune and left his son to the task of rebuilding it. I'm not to spend anything anymore…"

"That's not my problem, Cressida…you aren't my mistress." He said dismissively, losing interest.

"Is that who the girl is? Have you taken a mistress?" Her voice was full of venomous jealousy. "I'll slit her pretty throat." She growled.

"Cressida…shut the fuck up." He barked. "That girl has nothing to do with me or my cock, and if you ever go near her, I'll kill you myself. Is that clear?" He asked. Demurely, she nodded in satisfation.

"Of course, darling…_angel…_" He spun on her.

"Don't _ever _call me that, damn you!" He bellowed. "Now take off your fucking clothes before I cut them off you and you have to return home naked." Eyes wide, she did exactly as he told. This, he thought, was how things were supposed to be. People bending to his every whim without question…Never again would he be a slave to his own affections.


	3. The Proud Woman

**Eh...I'm not sure about this chapter, but again it's set up. **

* * *

That evening, a trunk was sent to Erik's home with a letter. Cressida had left, having her fill and left him alone to deal with his headache. Holden had the trunk brought into his private parlor upstairs for his master's inspection. Ripping the letter off of the trunk, Erik read its contents. 

_Monsieur Destler, _

_Take these gowns back as proof that I cannot be bought. Give them to another woman for I won't open my legs for you. _

_I wish you all the best and I thank you for your help. _

_Evangeline Lambourne_

Usually, Erik would have been irritated with her blunt refusal, but he began to laugh unexpectedly at her words. It started as a chuckle, which had escalated quickly into a full blown hearty laugh.

"Sir?" Holden's voice came, indicating he had not left. Erik braced himself against the wall, holding the note out for his manservant to inspect. "And this is…amusing?"

"Christ yes!" Erik chortled, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. "The pristine little chit doesn't even know what she's talking about! She pretends to be worldly and learned, but she has no idea just how dangerous and manipulative I can be." Sobering, he stood straight and readjusted his cravat. "Holden…make no mistake. I will have Evangeline Lambourne in my bed." Handing Holden a glass of whiskey, they clicked glasses. "She won't know what hit her…" Holden did not drink however as he watched his master with wonder.

"These arrived also." Dag said, producing a pair of invitations. "Lord and Lady Saber are having a ball, and the Count and Countess de Chagny are having a welcome home party for their son and his wife." Erik spun around, snatching the notes from him.

_Comte Philbert de Chagny and his wife Comtesse Florence Monique de Chagny request your presence at a soiree to welcome home their son, the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny and his bride Vicomtesse Christine Charlotte de Chagny. Please R.S.V.P. _

"No." Erik said retaining his composure and tossing the invitation aside. "I will attend Lord and Lady Saber's ball, however." Holden nodding, never questioning his masters decisions and left the room to send word to each.

* * *

Evangeline took the opportunity after sending the gowns back into Monsieur Destler's possession to return to Lady Priscilla's to buy an acceptable gown she could use for balls and musicales. It wouldn't be silk, or beaded, but it would be appropriate. It was a bit busy, however, as a small crowd was gathered outside the shop. Pushing politely through the crowd, Evie made her way into the small shop to find a dark haired woman of about forty and a very young looking girl with brown hair and eyes. Lady Priscilla turned at the sound of the door and let out a sound of happy surprise. 

"Mademoiselle Lambourne! You have returned!" She exclaimed. "The Comtesse de Chagny and her daughter-in-law will be finished in a moment…what may I do for you?" Producing some of the money Evie had saved and brought to Paris with her, she shyly set it down. Her sensed pricked as she realized that the girl sitting there was the very girl that the Phantom of the Opera had supposedly loved.

"I need an acceptable ball gown for the lowest price you can please…" She said and bemusement shone in the woman's dark eyes.

"But what of the fine gowns that were sent to you from Monsieur Destler?" She asked. Evie tried not to pay attention to the curious stares of the aristocratic women.

"Lady Priscilla…I am no one's kept woman." Evie replied proudly.

"How admirable of you…" The Comtesse replied tartly as the Vicomtesse looked mortified. "Priscilla…Christine must look older. You understand. She'll never be respected unless she looks the part of a Lady."

"I have just the thing." Priscilla said, disappearing into the other room and leaving Evie with the haughty Comtesse de Chagny and her son's wife.

"I…just want to offer my congratulations for your marriage, my lady." Evie said to the younger girl, who looked grateful for a kind word.

"Merci." The girl's voice was soft and childlike.

"My lady, I don't mean to seem forward, but I am doing research for a novel I am writing about the opera, and…"

"No." The Countess interrupted. "Christine has nothing to do with the opera any longer and cannot help you." With a flourish, she disappeared into the other room to converse with Lady Priscilla.

"I'm sorry, my lady." Evangeline said. The Viscountess gave a small apologetic smile.

"No. I don't mind at all…in fact," She whispered. "There is a ball tomorrow night at Lord and Lady Saber's estate. I am attending with my husband. Will you go?" She asked. Evie shook her head.

"I'm only a simple girl from Le Havre, my lady. People like me don't get invited to balls and things of the like." She explained gently.

"I'll speak with Raoul and have him request you be invited…we'll speak there." She said in low voice, so that her mother-in-law did not hear. Evie's eyes narrowed, taking in the child viscountess.

"How old are you, my lady?" She asked. The Vicomtesse smiled shyly.

"I was seventeen this past summer." She replied, her eyes flitting to the open door as the Comtesse stopped talking. The girls pulled apart quickly, each pretending they were uninterested in each other as the two women reappeared. Lady Priscilla looked a bit weary as she thanked the Countess.

"I'll have the dresses to her by morning dear. Thank you." She said graciously as the Countess took the Viscountess's arm and led her from the store. The viscountess smiled kindly at Evie as they passed.

"Now then dear." Lady Priscilla went on, "I have just the thing for you. It's dark blue with a tulle and satin skirt. I think it will suit you fine, I just need to take some measurements. I'll throw in a pair of stockings for free." Evie stayed at the dress shop and waited until the alterations to the lovely gown were finished, thanking the kind heavyset seamstress profusely. To Evie's dismay, however, it was raining when she made to leave.

"Oh dear." She said, clutching the dress box tightly as she pulled on her hood. Running toward the nearest hansom, she had nearly reached it, when a young, well dressed man stepped up to it. She stopped in defeat as he started for it and hesitated, looking her way. He beckoned her to come to him, moving quickly to meet her and take her arm.

"We'll share." He said in a well, cultivated voice.

"Oh thank you, thank you!" She said in relief, allowing him to help her into the cab.

"Where are you heading?" He asked.

"Er…Number eight, Rue de Verger." He nodded and moved to tell the driver. "I can't thank you enough…er…Monsieur…"

"Viscount LaSalle…Ansel." He said kindly. He was a handsome young man with fair hair and skin and brown eyes. He was a bit fragile looking and scholarly, not at all like Monsieur Destler had been with his broad shoulders and looming frame.

"Evangeline Lambourne." She said, wiping off her wet face with her handkerchief.

"I don't believe we've met." He said.

"No we wouldn't have, my lord." She replied shyly. "I only just arrived in Paris two days ago from La Havre."

"Oh, your family has an estate in Le Havre?" He asked. Shaking her head, she fought a smile.

"No my lord. We are but common people." She explained.

"Ah, I see." He said pleasantly. "Working class."

"Precisely." Evie replied.

"How refreshing!" Lord LaSalle replied. "Have you attended any balls yet?"

"No…I was at the opera gala last night, but other than that, no…"

"Will you?" He inquired with interest, making her blush.

"I'm not certain, my lord. I haven't yet received any invitations."

"You will." He assured her. "A girl of your looks will be noticed. You have friends in the aristocracy, no?"

"Well, sort of…I suppose I have formed a bond, however small with the Viscountess de Chagny." She replied. His eyebrows rose, impressed.

"Splendid. Then you shall receive an invitation…what is your purpose in Paris?" He asked.

"I am writing a novel…about the Phantom of the Opera." She replied modestly.

"You're a writer? I wouldn't have expected." His voice sounded sincere.

"Yes well, it's my passion." Her voice cut off as the hansom stopped in front of the Lacoeur's house.

"Well, Mademoiselle Lambourne…" He said, helping her down. "I do so hope to see you at an upcoming ball or musicale." Kissing her hand, he watched her until she was inside before leaving. A small feeling of excitement pooled in the pit of her stomach as she sprinted up the stairs to hang her dress up.

* * *

"Not roses…anything but roses." Erik explained as he instructed Holden to have flowers sent to Mademoiselle Lambourne. "She wants to be charmed, she'll get it. I'll have her by weeks end." He said in satisfaction, ignoring the skeptical look on Dag's face. 

"So then I'll have lilies sent." Holden replied. "Lady Remy was here earlier, and was not happy when she was sent away."

"She'll live." Erik replied coldly. "She can go for a week without what's in my pants." Erik watched his servant leave, thinking of Cressida. They'd met at a soiree in early July just after his architectural firm had secured its first big client. A building that held multiple offices that could be rented to different businesses. After that, his business had soared making him one of the richest men in Paris in a very short time. It wasn't long before the invitations from women seeking affairs started pouring in. Being very naïve in the ways of love, Erik had finally consented to a Baroness and for the first time had lain with a woman at the age of forty. Since then, he'd been with too many women to count on his fingers, with Cressida being his favored lover for her lack of inhibitions and her discretion.

Her jealous nature, however, was not something to be toyed with and he made sure that any other women he bedded would keep quiet about it. Upon becoming a rake, he'd also become one of the most sought after men in Paris, with invitations to various society events pouring in by the scores daily. Peers were fighting for the chance to have Erik Destler design their houses and estates and he was perfectly content to let them coddle him. Especially their wives, he thought with a wry grin. No one could fault him for being weak and out of control any longer. The sweet sensation of being on top of the world overcame him as he rang for breakfast.

* * *

"Evangeline dear…these flowers arrived for you just now." Madame Lacoeur said in the doorway to Evie's room, carrying an ornate arrangement of white lilies, ferns and baby's breath. 

"Who are they from Madame Lacoeur?" She asked, wondering if Lord LaSalle had sent them with a small flutter in her chest.

"A Monsieur Destler…there is a note enclosed dear." Evie took it with irritation nagging at her as Madame Lacoeur left to attend other guests.

_Evangeline,_

_Such a pretty name that is…I offer my sincere apologies for being forward with you and I do so hope that you and I will become friends. There is a ball tonight at Lord and Lady Saber's home. If you attend, I do hope you will save a waltz for me._

_Erik Destler_

The nerve of the man was admirable, Evie thought, folding the note. Not thirty minutes earlier, she had received the invitation from Lady Saber. The Viscount de Chagny must really love his young wife. Evie could not imagine someone loving her enough to do anything for her. The little she remembered of her parents, they had loved each other dearly and had showed each other affection often. Evie had always envied them, but she had always known that love was rare and it wasn't often that a woman married for love. Her oldest sister had married for the simple reason of marrying and Bethany had wanted so badly to get out of their poverty stricken home, she didn't care with whom.

Evie had started suspecting that Giselle was doing unbecoming things to pay their bills when she'd come home after a local dance and had seen an unknown carriage in front of the cottage. When she'd woken up the following morning, it was gone. Proper women simply did not take visitors late at night. She never did discover who was secretly paying her mother's debts, but she would never tell her mother what she suspected.

Pulling the midnight blue ball gown from the closet, she laid it on the bed along with her new stockings. Luckily, her dress slippers were not so far gone that she would embarrass herself. Her ancient corset would serve its purpose, supporting her beneath her breasts so that the gown could demurely display her ample cleavage. The gown was not spectacular, but it would allow her to fit in without being noticed.

Removing her day dress, she sat miserably on the edge of her bed feeling more alone than she ever had. She wanted nothing more at that moment than to be at home and spill out her feelings to Bianca, who always listened without interrupting. She would even tolerate Fern's incessant chatter. _It won't be long…_Evie's mind soothed, _A few more interviews and a couple of weeks of research and you can return to the quiet shore of Le Havre. _ The Lacoeurs' home was so quiet at night, whereas in Le Havre, Evie and Bianca could hear the ships coming into the harbor from the room they shared.

Madame Lacoeur helped Evie dress and pin her hair for the evening, proving quite skilled at hair styling. Weaving a ribbon through it, she tied it into a bow at the back of her hair.

"We'll find you a husband yet, my dear." The older woman said kindly and Evie smiled politely.

"I'm not in the market for a husband Madame Lacoeur… I'm doing research for my novel." She explained gently as the woman looked bemused.

"Novel? You're a writer?" She asked in surprise. Evangeline nodded, blushing.

"I'm twenty-three you see…"

"Well I never!" The woman chuckled. "I thought you were twenty at the most! A pretty little thing you are!" The woman took Evie's face in her hands. "And you are going to steal all the attention! Other women need jewels and beads to make them beautiful…but you make this simple satin dress look fit for a queen." Evie blushed at the flattery and thanked her before pulling on the gloves that had come with the gown.

* * *

Cressida scanned the ballroom with a yawn, staring at the boring peers of society. Three men stood around her, begging for her attention, but she ignored them, only wanting the attention of one gentleman who had not arrived. Her attention was mildly captured at one point when the Viscount de Chagny and his bride arrived. With a smirk, Cressida studied the pretty girl. She was a child, that was to be certain, but she had a look that told everyone she had lived. No wonder the dashing young viscount had fallen for her, even if she was out of his class. It was disgusting the way more common people had wormed their way into the peerage and upper society. 

The object of her lust arrived moments later with two gentlemen. His coat was a dark maroon color and he wore a black cravat with his gold trimmed vest. His hair was not smoothly slicked as usual, but brushed neatly curling slightly at the ends. It made him look less intimidating, which vexed Cressida since Erik's sole purpose in life was to frighten and bully people into bowing to him. Now all that was left to do was figure out which little bitch had sparked his interest…and ruin her.

* * *

Evangeline entered the lavish ballroom shyly, hoping to find the Viscount and his wife quickly. With lightning speed, a succession of male peers approached her with interest. 

"My dear, grace us with a dance…"

"May I escort you onto the terrace?"

"Are you thirsty?"

"Give the girl some breathing room, for goodness sake!" Evie looked up in relief to see the classically handsome face of the fair haired Lord LaSalle. "Mademoiselle Lambourne, are you alright?" Nodding, she remained casual.

"Of course, my lord." She said cheerfully. "Just my first experience with the mistress hunters I suppose." He laughed, offering her his arm, which she accepted. "Could you help me find the Viscountess de Chagny? She's supposed to be waiting for me…"

"Mademoiselle Lambourne?" Evangeline sighed in relief at the sight of the chocolate colored curls piled on the Viscountess's head.

"Madame le Vicomtesse." She said, looking back at Lord LaSalle. "Thank you, my lord for your kindness." He nodded and bent to kiss her hand.

"Always…do save a dance." Nodding, she watched him walk back into the throng of guests.

"My lady…" Evie began, pulling out her notepad. "I don't mean to startle you but I am writing a novel about the Phantom of the opera…and I know that you had someone been involved with the opera at the time of…"

"It's over." The viscountess said, her child like eyes wide with fear. "I can't…" She whispered. "Not here…come…the terrace." Allowing the Viscountess to pull her by the wrist, they walked into the biting November night.

"So it _was_ you." Evie said softly. The woman nodded.

"Yes…but I didn't know what it was…"

"I don't follow." Evie replied. The Viscountess sighed.

"I was brought to the opera at a very young age by my father's good friend Madame Giry when he passed. She raised me there and I was taught to dance along with her daughter, which is how I earned my way. You see, my father and I were very close and he had sheltered me. I believed everything he ever told me…fact, fiction and the like." She stopped herself, ashamed. "There was this story…I know now he just told it to me to make me behave, but I thought it to be the literal truth. The story was that there is an Angel of Music who very few people will ever have the pleasure to hear sing to them."

"I'm sorry…an angel?" Evie asked, scrawling quickly. The girl nodded.

"When he was dying, my father told me he would send the Angel to me from Heaven…he was delirious, he had no idea what he was saying…but I believed him." She sniffed. "I believed him…and once when I was in the opera chapel, praying for my father, I heard the most beautiful voice in the world and it was beckoning to me…he sang for me. Through that guise, the man behind the voice taught me how to sing…and I loved him!" Whispering madly, she took one of Evie's gloved hands in her own. "My husband and I have known each other since childhood. My father taught him to play the violin one summer and we became very close. I never saw him again after that, as father died and I was sent to Paris. When the new managers took over, it so happened that Raoul had become their new patron. We were overjoyed to be reunited…and everything would have been fine, but for…"

"Your Angel." Evie answered for her dryly.

"He was no Angel, Mademoiselle Lambourne. He revealed himself that very night and took me to his lair, five stories below the opera! It was there that I saw his face…it was terrifying." She shivered. "Not his ugliness you see…he was so angry…I thought he'd kill me, but…he didn't. He took me back. After that, he made threats to the managers to progress my career…people began dying. Joseph Buquet a stage hand…he was hung during a performance. After that, I left the opera with Raoul and the Phantom must have retreated in my absence. We returned for the New Years Eve Masquerade Ball, newly engaged. He came there…he saw my ring and ripped it from me…he demanded that his opera be staged. I was forced into it. He killed the leading tenor that night and took his place! I had to do it…I had to expose him…they would have killed him you see."

"You did care for him then." Evangeline said. Christine nodded.

"Of course…not in the way he wished, but I couldn't let them…you must understand, it was all happening so fast." The girl looked a bit desperate.

"Relax dear. It's alright." Evie consoled her.

"No…you see, he stole me again that night, only…only Raoul came after us to rescue me. Of course, Raoul was caught and the Phantom, he…he made me choose. Save Raoul and marry the Phantom or go free while Raoul hung."

"Sweet Lord…" Evie murmured in disgust.

"I kissed him and he…he let us go. In fact, he insisted we leave. I haven't seen him since…but I cannot help but wonder what he's made of himself if he's still alive."

"One can only ponder." Evie muttered. "My lady…"

"Please call me Christine, I'll never be used to this title…"

"Christine." The women both turned to face the very man in question. Evie, feeling a strong maternal instinct, stood in front of the taller girl to protect her from the invader.

"What do _you_ want Monsieur?" Evie asked in irritation. Christine's eyes had gone wide as saucers.

"I came to find you, Evangeline."

"_Don't _presume to use my first name Monsieur Destler." She said through gritted teeth. Christine looked between the two of them.

"You…you _know_each other?" She asked.

"Vaguely." Monsieur Destler replied as though Christine were some insignificant stranger. "She's been sniffing around in my past…if she was wise, she would…"

"Accept gifts from you? Become your little whore?" Evie challenged, newfound hatred boiling in her gut for this man. "I'll pass."

"I was going to say abandon this idiot notion of writing about the events surrounding _my_ life."

"_I _am entitled to write about _anything _I so choose!" Evie was vaguely aware that they were nearly an inch apart now. The Viscountess began to back away.

"I'm just going to go…somewhere…"

"And _you_!" He barked, pushing Evie aside and stepping toward the trembling girl. "You will stay right the fuck there! Look at yourself Christine! Look at what you've become! You're one of…_his_ kind."

"If you are implying that I am anything but a good person, you are a fool." Evie turned to see the fair haired viscount with his stylish hair and clothes standing there. "Now, kindly step away from my wife or I will disembowel you." In a softer voice, he held out his arms. "Come Christine…come to your husband." Without hesitation, the girl rushed into his arms.

"Unless you intend to apologize, never speak to me again." Christine said with a fire in her voice.

"_Apologize._" Monsieur Destler spat. "I'm sorry Christine." He said without emotion. "I'm sorry I ever met you." He turned away from them then, facing Evangeline. Evie looked in horror and sympathy and the young couple.

"You're a fool." The Viscount said quietly before he guided his wife inside. If Evie's escape hadn't been blocked by Monsieur Destler, she too would have left him there.

"Excuse me Monsieur le _fantome_." She said, pushing her way around him. "I knew it…I knew it all along." She said, wanting to make him suffer for his cruelty. "An innocent child…"

"Are you going to shut your mouth Mademoiselle Lambourne, or will I have to shut it for you?" His voice was threatening.

"You deserve no less you manipulative, self serving…" She was cut off however, as he closed the distance between them in one step and crushed his lips to hers with the ferocity of a lion feasting on its prey. A sound of protest left her as she tried to push him away, but her resistance began to fade. His tongue invaded her mouth with skill as her hands found the soft thickness of his brushed hair. Remembering her disgust, she heaved him off of her.

"Holy hell…" He said raggedly, trying to breathe as he stared at her in awe.

"I would accept the devil before I ever touch you again!" Evie said, slapping his bewildered face. As she stormed back inside, she passed a blonde haired woman, who was staring at her as though she were the vermin of the earth. Ignoring her, she started back into the ballroom, colliding with the sturdy chest of a man.

"Mademoiselle Lambourne, are you well?" Ansel Viscount LaSalle looked down at her with worried eyes.

"Yes…I'm…I'm fine. Just a bit thirsty." She lied. Gently, he led her to the punch table. This was the type of man she needed to associate with. Kind, gently bred, never impulsive. No doubt every detail of his life was planned already.

"Forgive me for being forward, Mademoiselle…but may I call on you?" He asked and her heart pounded.

"Oh…I'd like that, it's just…" She sighed. "I have decided to return to Le Havre tomorrow." He nodded in understanding as she fought to regain her senses.

"Ah yes…well, my family has a home near there. We usually only go during the summer, but…I think I would be willing to make an exception."

"What of the difference in class?" She asked. "I am not of the aristocracy."

"Yes…there is that." He agreed, thinking. "Truthfully Mademoiselle Lambourne, that really makes no difference anymore. I think you are an attractive girl and you seem to have the temperament that befits a viscountess."

"If you so desire, you may call on me. But I will not be offended if you break it off."

"I'm not so haughty as you think, dear girl." He said, his eyes warm. "Will you dance with me?"

* * *

"So you have taken that little bitch for a mistress." Cressida said, coming out of the shadows. Erik glared at her. 

"No. And keep your fucking nose out of things that don't concern you." He said quietly, his hands balled into fists.

"I'll bet the little tart has never even been kissed like that…then again," She paused, "No one kisses like you, Erik. I especially like when you use that tongue on my…"

"Enough." He said. "Come to my house if you want me and don't ever mention this night again. I want to forget it." Satisfied, she glided toward him.

"Poor darling…let Cressida take care of you. Make me your mistress Erik and I'll give you everything." She urged.

"No. If you want me, you will be content with my cock. I won't spend money on you." He said, looking into the ballroom. Unexpectedly, he felt a surge of nausea as he watched Evangeline dance with Lord LaSalle as if nothing had happened at all.

"You want her." Cressida said, jealousy in her voice.

"It will pass. I'm just insatiable and she was close. It was convenient." Looking down at Cressida's golden beauty, he realized just how aroused he was. "Let's go now." He said with urgency. She only smiled triumphantly.


	4. An Unexpected Visitor

**I pay homage to Gaston Leroux and his brilliance in this chapter...but it is not meant to actually BE him...just a little reference. You'll see.**

* * *

Evangeline had never been so happy to see her family's run down old house as she was upon her return the evening after the ball. Clutching her valise and reticule, she sighed and thanked her driver, paying him before running toward the house. She was welcomed by a cacophony of voices and the smell of dinner. The sound of children laughing could be heard, and Evie realized Cadence was here with her two small sons. Setting her things down, Evie walked into the kitchen without hesitation, desperate to see her mother and get some comfort. Giselle looked up in surprise as she walked in and Bianca let out a small shriek from where she stood near the stove.

"Evangeline." Giselle said quietly, rising.

"Mother…" Evie said, going to her and locking her mother in a fierce embrace.

"Evie…" Giselle comforted, "Goodness my love, what happened in Paris?" Shaking her head, Evie took her mother's hands.

"It doesn't matter. I'm home…" She replied. "Are you angry with me?" Giselle sighed.

"No…not angry. One certainly doesn't wish to wake up and find her child gone with little more than a few words to set her mind at ease, but you are an adult Evangeline. I cannot stop you from doing what you will."

"Aunt Evie!" A young voice cut them off as Evie gave her mother one last apologetic smile and turned to pull her nephew up into her arms.

"Nathan!" She cried, hugging the boy's small body to her. "Are you behaving?"

"Yes of course!" He said indignantly. "It's Daniel who is the bad one."

"Is that so?" Evie said with a smile at the impish child. He nodded.

"Nathan! Aren't you coming?" Daniel's even smaller frame asked from the door.

"Daniel…aren't you going to give Aunt Evie a kiss?" She asked teasingly. The four year old made a face of disgust.

"No! Don't like girls!" He said, sticking his tongue out and running from the room.

"Adorable, isn't he?" Cadence muttered. "I can't wait to have a whole house full…"

"It's not so bad, is it?" Evie asked. "There's only two of them."

"Three soon." Cadence replied, eating a bite of her food as Bianca set a full plate in front of Evie. Giving her sister a grateful look, she bit into the delicious food.

"You're pregnant?" Evangeline asked incredulously. Cadence nodded.

"Between the nausea and the cravings, I can't seem to catch my breath." She replied. "I suppose it's no wonder that we're expecting. I'll say one thing for Reid, no one could call him impotent." Evie blushed at her sister's blunt revelation about her husband.

"Cadence, that isn't proper dinner talk." Giselle scolded and Cadence laughed.

"Oh Maman. Don't pretend to be modest. We're all adults and Fern isn't here right now."

"Where _is_ Fern?" Evie asked, shoveling an epic size of potatoes into her mouth.

"She's eating dinner at a friend's home. I couldn't tell her no…Fern is so shy you know…" Giselle said. Evie nodded.

"I can't understand why…she's going to be such a beauty Maman."

"She looks quite like you did Evie." Giselle said tiredly. Evie laughed out loud.

"Hardly! You remember me at that age Bianca…Cadence. I was awkward and unseemly."

"Still are." Bianca said cheerfully, sitting beside her mother.

"She'll come out of her shell." Cadence said, grabbing her youngest son as he ran by and pulling him onto her lap. "One bite Daniel." She urged. The boy obliged and squirmed off, squealing in delight at being free.

"Have you heard from Bethany at all?" Evie asked her mother, who nodded.

"They'll be along for the Christmas holidays." Giselle said, looking at the clock. "I must go and lie down." She said, decisively leaving the room.

"She isn't right." Bianca said quietly. "She's been acting strange for weeks."

"I know it." Evie said with a sigh, staring at the doorway her beautiful mother had gone through.

"So, did you meet any men in Paris, Evie?" Bianca asked excitedly. Evie rolled her eyes.

"Of course, Bianca. There are men in Paris just as there are in Le Havre."

"You _know_ what I meant." Bianca said in exasperation. Evie and Cadence shared a quick snicker, as both of them liked to get a rise out of Bianca, who was too sweet for her own good.

"As a matter of fact, I met a very kind viscount who helped me get out of the rain and then I shared a hansom with him." She said, choosing her words cautiously.

"Was he good looking?" Bianca asked.

"What does it matter if he was good looking or not?" Cadence cut in, "Was he interested in you?"

"Somewhat…I suppose, I mean I did see him at a ball last night and…"

"A ball!" Bianca cried, standing up. "You were at a _ball_?" Evie nodded, feeling queasy suddenly as she tried to block out the image of being locked in an embrace with Monsieur Destler, which she _had _hated.

"Yes, actually Viscount LaSalle asked to call on me. His family has a home in Le Havre. Whether or not he'll actually do that is beyond me." Cadence stared at her thoughtfully.

"Are you certain he doesn't mean to take you as a mistress?" She asked suspiciously. Evie nearly laughed.

"Cadence, I don't think Lord LaSalle is that type of man. He's very soft spoken and kind. Besides…it's not as if he proposed to me! We barely know each other." A small giggle left her. "He probably won't even call, and besides…viscounts don't marry novelists."

"They certainly seem to marry opera singers though." Cadence said. "You obviously know about the Viscount de Chagny?"

"Yes, I met him and his wife as a matter of fact. Did you know she's seventeen?" Evie asked. Cadence's eyes widened.

"Barely two years older than Fern!" Cadence replied in surprise.

"The Viscount is younger than me from what I hear. Twenty-one, I think." Evangeline couldn't suppress a grin at her sisters' stricken faces. Bianca sighed.

"When I marry, I want someone with a wicked streak…so life won't be boring." She said. Evie scoffed.

"That's the last thing anyone needs." She said, meaning it. "I would be content with a quiet home where I could write without distractions or arguments. No husband with a temper…or a…past…"

"Evie!" The three sisters turned to see their youngest sibling standing there. Evangeline rose to embrace her sister.

"Oh, Fern…I have missed you darling…" She said affectionately.

"You must tell me_everything _about Paris…" Fern said, wide eyed. Evie smiled at her, brushing a dark curl from her face.

"Later, perhaps. Go and tell Maman you're home." The girl nodded and left the room after kissing Cadence on the cheek.

"She _does_ look like you." Cadence said, "But she has Maman's hair." Evie shrugged.

"Let's hope she is more outgoing than I was." She said with a laugh and pulled her spectacles out. "I think I'll go upstairs and start on my manuscript." She added, leaving her sisters to chat.

* * *

"You've driven her to leave the country, Erik!" Antoinette said, appearing in the door to his study. 

"Go home Antoinette." Erik said, peering over his ledger.

"Don't you realize what you've done? Christine and Raoul have decided to move to London!" He looked up to see her red rimmed eyes.

"Good riddance." He said coldly.

"How can you say that? She did nothing wrong! Good lord Erik, the girl was willing to sacrifice herself to your ill-hatched plan…"

"Enough!" He snarled, standing up. "God damn you…all you do anymore is try to torture me! How many times will you make me relive the fucking past?"

"Somebody has to! You've become something worse now!" She snapped back, not intimidated by his tone. "At least _then _you had the capacity to love…"

"A weakness." He said dismissively. "Falling in love is the ultimate weakness…it can ruin you."

"Not if it's with the right person! If you met the right woman, it could _save _you!" She said, turning to pleading.

"Antoinette. I will never lower myself as to depend on the affections of anyone else again. If you cannot accept that, then do not come to see me anymore." Her blue eyes were a mix of sadness and pity.

"What I cannot accept, Erik, is the fact that you have lost all concept of who you are. Sleeping with married women…trying to seduce that innocent novelist!" She sighed, trying to regain calm. "I'll have you know that Evangeline returned to Le Havre this morning after coming to see me. She wouldn't tell me what happened last night, but it can't have been good." He turned away from her, not wanting to remember that kiss, in fact, he was almost glad she'd left, because after that kiss, he'd done unspeakable things to Cressida. It hadn't even been the best kiss he'd ever received, and Mademoiselle Lambourne was quite obviously inexperienced with men. With that first kiss with Christine, it had been she who had taught him, however innocent she was…while this virginal creature new nothing of carnal pleasures. It was too enticing…it was even more tempting than fucking Cressida, who knew _everything_ about it.

"Leave me alone Annie. Go interfere in somebody else's life." He finally said. Stung, she looked at him with a new look of pity.

"God help you, Erik Destler. I hope one day you'll see that you will never truly be happy until you are happy with yourself." She said and left.

"I am happy! I have everything I've ever wanted!" He called after her stubbornly. "She'll see…meddlesome bitch…"

* * *

It was snowing; Evie noticed when she woke up. Three weeks had gone by quickly, and Christmas was six days away now. Four chapters of her manuscript were done as she started her story at the beginning. 

_Paris was in mayhem. The screams of people could be heard throughout the streets as they poured from the opera. Three were dead from the weight of the collapsed chandelier…_

"Evie." Giselle's voice sounded from the doorway, making her jump.

"Maman?" She inquired at the grin on her mother's face.

"There's a gentleman here to see you." Giselle replied, excitement in her voice.

"What?" Evie replied, feeling dizzy as she stood. "I look a fright!" She whispered, her eyes suddenly narrowing. "Wait. Who is it?"

"A Viscount LaSalle." Giselle said and Evie felt as though her chest might explode with the force of her beating heart.

"He kept his word..." She replied in a daze. "Distract him while I tidy myself!" Giselle nodded, her face pink with excitement as Evie feverishly took her hair out of the long plait to brush it. Washing her face quickly, she smoothed her old dress before nearly tripping as she ran out the door of her room.

He was sitting in the living room with her mother, Bianca and Fern, his fair hair brushed neatly. He even sat elegantly. His kind eyes noticed her standing in the doorway and he smiled.

"Mademoiselle Lambourne!" He said, standing.

"M-My lord." She stammered, allowing him to take her hands. "How kind of you to call."

"I told you I would." He replied easily. "I am a man of my word."

"Which is more than some people could say." Evie said bitterly.

"My family is in Le Havre for Christmas this year and I wanted to see if you would like to take a sleigh ride with me." Her eyes must have widened for he smiled down at her.

"I…" She looked to Giselle, who nodded enthusiastically. "Yes. Of course I will." Letting go of his hand, she added, "Let me fetch my cloak and gloves." Giselle was quick as a cat as she moved to help her daughter.

"Take my gloves. They're newer." She whispered, kissing Evie's cheek. "Imagine. My daughter…a viscountess."

"Don't get ahead of yourself Mother." Evie warned, pulling on the hood. They returned to find Bianca and Lord LaSalle in a friendly conversation about poetry.

"I do love sonnets…Number fourteen is my favorite." He was saying.

"You're joking, my lord! That's _my_ favorite!" Bianca cried. "Not from the stars do I my judgment pluck…"

"And yet methinks I have astronomy…" He finished with a warm smile, as he looked up to see Evie, who beamed at him. "It was a pleasure meeting you ladies…perhaps Mademoiselle Bianca and I can catch up on poetry over Christmas…" He took Evie's arm and led her out into the snowy yard where his open sleigh waited for them. "Your family is lovely." He said once they had rounded the street corner.

"Thank you my lord…I'm sure they feel the same about you."

"Ansel." He said quietly, confusing her.

"I'm sorry?" She said, holding her gloved hand in his, he grinned.

"Call me Ansel…and I shall call you…?"

"Evie." She replied. This seemed to please him.

"What a beautiful name…and it suits you." He flattered, making her turn pink.

"I must admit…Ansel…that I did not expect you to call." A small smile came to his face.

"There are many insincere peers Evie. I am not one of them. My family came from little more than yours. You see, Father inherited his title when a cousin died and left no heirs. He was raised in a village not far from here…Rouen."

"Is your father a Comte?" Evie asked and he nodded.

"This of course made me the viscount." He said with a pleasant grin. "Your hair is beautiful…" He added.

"Thank you." She replied shyly. A smile came to his face as he reached out to touch it.

"It's so much more than just Auburn…there are shades of copper, champagne and chocolate all through it. The contrast makes your skin look positively porcelain."

"Ansel…you're making me blush." She managed to say. A laugh left him.

"So tell me about your novel." He said, changing the subject at her discomfort.

"You remembered!" She said appreciatively. "It's actually going to be based on the Phantom of the Opera ordeal at the Opera Populaire." Ansel's eyes lit with recognition.

"Ah. That explains your acquaintance with the Viscountess de Chagny." He replied. Evie nodded.

"It's going to be my best work yet." She said proudly.

"How is it that I haven't heard of any of your work?" He asked curiously. A secretive grin played at her lips.

"I don't use my own name…I write under an alias." She explained.

"Which one?" He too was smiling.

"Leroux. G. Leroux."

"You wrote _Secrets of a Lady's Maid_?" He asked, interested.

"You've read it?" She asked. He nodded.

"It's very popular." Her eyes widened in disbelief.

"If it's so popular, why am I not rich?" She asked jokingly.

"Money is a fickle thing, Evie." Ansel replied easily. "How did you come up with your alias?"

"It was my mother's maiden name, and her first name is Giselle, so I borrowed the initial." Evie clarified as a look of amusement came to his face.

"How clever." He said. "Mademoiselle, I must admit, you enchant me." A small pull of sadness hit her as they stopped in front of her house again.

"I don't know what to say." She countered as he helped her down.

"Say you'll see me again." He said as she realized how close they were. Breathing deeply, she drank in the smell of him. Cinnamon and cologne blended appealingly.

"I…of course, my lord…Ansel. Of course I'll see you again." For a long moment, she thought he was going to kiss her, but he opted to kiss her hand instead before walking her to the door.

"I shall call in a day or so, if it pleases you." He said softly.

"I'd like that…I still can't believe you actually kept your word…we barely spoke in Paris." Evie felt a small thrill ripple through her as he smiled.

"Don't you know that the fastest way to a man's heart is to leave him wanting more?" His voice was teasing but his eyes were serious. "You intrigued me, Evie. And I can see that you aren't a husband hunter only after me for a title. It isn't often I meet a genuinely nice girl."

"I never even thought someone with a title would speak to me. I always assumed I'd just end up being a spinster." She said.

"How old are you?" He asked with interest. She laughed, embarrassed.

"Twenty-three." A nervous laugh escaped her as he stared at her with a look of surprise.

"Is that all?" He asked, waving it off with a chuckle. "I thought you were closer to twenty, but twenty three is hardly worrisome."

"I should…probably go…it's getting dark." She said regretfully. He nodded.

"Of course, I…" He stopped, looking down at her. "I'd like to…I mean, that is…" Before he could finish, she stood on her toes and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. Blushing, she smiled at him.

"Good night Ansel." She said, giggling at the rising flush behind his ears and on his neck.

"Yes…er…good night Evie." He replied as she gently closed the door behind her, leaning against it. A squeal of excitement left her as she took off her cloak.

"Maman!" She cried, running off in the direction of the kitchen.

* * *

Antoinette angrily ended rehearsal that night and returned to her home, still furious at Erik over their encounter three weeks before. Exhausted, Meg retreated to her room to lie down while Annie sat at her dining table to write a letter that she should have written the day Evangeline Lambourne had left. She'd gotten her address from the couple who Mademoiselle Lambourne had stayed with for the two days she'd been in Paris. Resigning herself to the fact that Erik was beyond help, she began to write. 

_Dear Evangeline,_

_It has been a long time since I talked to you and I do hope you and your family are well. With your sudden departure, I felt I should explain a few things to you, though shame has kept me from writing until now. _

_You see, when I was a girl of fourteen, I was training as my daughter is now to be a ballerina in the opera house. A traveling fair came through town and as a treat, we were taken to it. Within its clutches, was a young boy they called "The Devil's Child." Of course, he was no child. He was a seventeen year old boy named Erik. When I saw the abuse he suffered at the hands of the gypsy entertainer, I felt sick. He murdered the man that very day in front of our eyes and I helped him to escape, taking him to the Opera Populaire. Within minutes he had discovered one of the hidden passageways and soon, I learned he lived below the opera at the bank of the lake. _

_As I grew to know him, I learned that he had only recently been captured in Persia and it was there that he'd learned the art of killing under the Shah. I don't know all of the details, however. He also had a keen skill for drawing and measurements, hence his success in architecture and masonry. He is a genius you see…and I know deep down that he is a good person. If only he could see that, I think he would be a much happier human being. _

_He was born with a face unlike yours or mine, and his mother faulted him for it greatly. I know very little of his mother aside from the fact that he loathes her. Erik doesn't think like other people. He lashes out at those who hurt him because he doesn't have the self esteem to defend himself. I think with the right person to guide him, he could be happy someday. I never dreamed he would have fallen in love with Christine and I blame myself for his madness. You see, I was the one who suggested that he sing to her to soothe her…only for a little while when she was so grief stricken as a girl that she had become ill. I never expected him to give her singing lessons under false pretenses! You must think me an awful person, Evangeline, but what's done is done. _

_After Christine left the opera to be married and honeymoon, Erik disappeared for a while and was believed dead. It wasn't until I heard about the new architect who had captured the interest of nearly everyone in Paris. I don't know how he hasn't been caught, it's nothing short of a miracle…but a man was found dead near the opera. Half of his face had been burned. It was convenient, but I know it was not Erik who killed that man. Erik is nothing if not fearless of the law…and yet, the law claimed that man to be the Phantom of the Opera, so Erik has been free to live his life as he chooses which is somewhat worse._

_He's become something I never thought possible…a cold, indecent man. Erik was once a man of intelligent and elegant speech, not the crass man you met. It's as if someone else entered his body and took his life over. I have done all I can for Erik, his salvation is now up to him. I hope this helps you with your novel and God Bless. My daughter sends her best as well. Merry Christmas, my dear._

_Antoinette Giry_

* * *

Evie folded the letter with a heavy heart and placed it with her notes. With a sigh, she began to braid her hair to put it back into a net. Ansel was joining the family for Christmas Eve dinner and she didn't want to think about Monsieur Destler and the sickening pity she suddenly felt for him. People can't choose the lives they're given, and an innocent child with no fault other than a deformity being punished for his existence. It was disgusting. Still, Evie could not bring herself to like the man. He was detestable and unstable…as well as selfish and crude. 

Pushing the image of a little boy pleading with his mother to love him, she instead remembered the terrible things he'd barked at the poor, innocent Viscountess. The girl had been near tears…and he had been determined to see that she was hurt. The love that the Viscount de Chagny held for his young wife was obvious in the way he'd held her and it was strange to think that a girl nearly seven years younger than Evie now knew more than she did in the subject of marital pleasures.

Oh, Evangeline knew how it worked; she and Bianca had badgered Bethany into telling them everything upon her first visit after her wedding four years before. It sounded an awful thing, painful and awkward. Not at all like the exaggerated tales in the novels she'd read growing up. Perhaps it was why she was in no hurry to marry. The thought of being naked with any man was extremely uncomfortable. She pushed it from her mind as Bianca came into the room.

"Lord LaSalle is here…and look what he's given me Evie!" She proudly held out a worn looking book. "It's a book of sonnets!" Her eyes were lit up like they used to be when Papa had told them stories. A smile crept to Evie's lips as she drew Bianca into a tight embrace, feeling an overwhelming affection for her younger sister, who had become a woman right under her nose. "He's brought gifts for everyone!" Bianca cried, a look of adoration on her pretty face.

"Well, let's not keep him waiting my love…is Maman downstairs?" She asked, taking the book of sonnets and setting it on the table between their beds. Bianca shook her head.

"She's been gone all day…where does she go Evie? Something strange is happening with her…"

"Now is not the time to talk about it." Evie hushed her, guiding her gently out the door. "We'll talk before bed dear." She said, linking her arm with her sister's.

"Bethany and Ian are still asleep." Bianca said as they passed the room that their older sister was sharing with her husband.

"They had a long journey." Evangeline pointed out. "Remember, they live in Orleans." Bianca nodded as they rounded the corner into the kitchen, where Ansel was showing Fern how to work the beautiful nutcracker he'd gotten her. She squealed in delight as the nut cracked easily. Evie noticed a slight blush had come to Bianca's face as Ansel smiled at them, and she realized that neither of her younger sisters had had a proper Christmas since their father had passed away. Smiling appreciatively at Ansel, she sat in the seat beside him.

"Merry Christmas Evie…" He said warmly, reaching over to squeeze her hand. She smiled serenely at him.

"Merry Christmas Ansel. Are your family well?" She asked sincerely. Nodding, he grinned.

"I told them about you." He admitted. "Mother is practically planning our wedding." Evie felt a fierce blush heat her face as she strove to remain nonchalant.

"Really?" She asked, clearing her throat. He chuckled.

"Don't worry Evie…I won't rush you…but I am serious about you…I want you to know that I am hoping we suit for marriage eventually. After all, I'm thirty-one years old." His voice was comforting and his words surprised her.

"After only five days of knowing each other, you're sure?" She asked cynically. With a casual smile, he shrugged.

"I'm not sure of anything Evie…all I know is, I think it's worth more than a passing glance, you know?" She nodded, wondering why she felt a small tremor of anxiety at the thought of marrying Ansel. Not that he wasn't a wonderful man, but she'd been resigned to being a spinster for so long, the thought of someone actually wanting her to be their wife was a bit dizzying.

Giselle walked in then, looking a bit disheveled, but she smiled at the sight of Ansel sitting between Evie and Fern.

"Where are Bethany and Ian?" She asked softly.

"Asleep." Evie replied. Giselle nodded, moving to pour herself a cup of tea.

"How are you, my lord?" Giselle asked. He beamed at her, rising to guide her to her seat and fetching the tea for her instead. She gave him an appreciative look.

"Madame Lambourne, how many times must I ask that you call me Ansel?" He asked teasingly, pouring the tea and displaying an astute memory as he added just one lump of sugar and no cream. Giselle looked impressed.

"Oh Ansel, you are a dream." She said, giving Evie a look of pure happiness. A warm feeling began to spread through Evie's chest as she watched her mother relax.

"Merry Christmas, Maman." She murmured, kissing Giselle's cheek and smiling at Ansel.


	5. Happy New Year

**Surprises!!! Thank you to everyone who is reading this...sincerely. **

* * *

"Giselle, we need to talk." Evie said, leaning against the doorway of her mother's bedroom well after Ansel had gone home. Giselle's eyes widened at the use of her first name but she sighed.

"You suspect…don't you?" She said, brushing her hair. Evie's eyes flashed.

"Yes…Maman…what is going on?" The girl asked, coming to sit on the edge of her bed. Giselle stared at her daughter, pondering as tears burned her eyes.

"Evie, I've tried to hide our situation from you girls…but I don't think I can any longer." Giselle sat beside Evangeline, looking at her hands. The memory of the first encounter made her stomach turn. It had been after church, nearly a year before. Debtors had come calling every day. She decided to tell the pastor her situation to see if he could offer advice.

"Madame Lambourne," He'd said, taking her arm. "How may I assist you?"

"Oh Pastor Mason, our family is in a terrible situation. My daughter Fern has been ill, we have doctor bills and grocery bills and debtors…my children need new clothes." She sighed in defeat. "What do you think I should do?" He looked at her strangely for a moment before clasping his hands together under his chin.

"Perhaps I may be of service…" He said quietly. "I have plenty of extra money and…"

"I could never ask that of you!" Giselle cried, mortified. Pastor Mason's gaze raked over her.

"I didn't mean to offer it for nothing…you see, my wife is a very distant woman…we haven't shared a marriage bed in almost a year." Giselle looked at him in confusion.

"I don't think that's appropriate…" She said, stopping suddenly as she realized what he was implying. "Are you saying you wish for me to…to…_lay_ with you?"

"Giselle." Pastor Mason said, standing, "Do you really want what's best for your five girls? I can _give _you that security…for a small price."

"You are a man of_God_…" She began, standing. He stalked toward her until he was so close she could smell his breath on her face.

"I am a man with needs." He stated as her eyes widened.

"I don't know…" She replied, her eyes brimming with tears. He moved closer to her.

"Your girls will not go hungry…no more debtors coming to your door." Resigned, she nodded.

"I will do it." She replied, cringing as his hand snaked its way up her arm.

"Come to the church tonight after you've eaten. Make sure no one sees you." He replied huskily. Closing her eyes, she left the room.

Since then, she had tried to break it off numerous times, but Pastor Mason was adamant at having control over her life. Whenever she tried to break it off, he threatened to ruin her family or worse, go after one of her younger girls. It had become very clear to Giselle in the past year, how corrupt the church and its leaders could be. Remus was no doubt rolling in his grave now at her stupidity. Yet, if she had not lowered herself, her girls might be on the streets picking through trash for food and selling their own unused bodies. Giselle would rather sacrifice herself than her daughters' innocence.

"Evie." Giselle said, staring at her daughter who looked rather ill.

"Maman…I know you've been giving your body!" She sobbed finally. Giselle was taken aback as she stared into her daughter's blue eyes.

"What?" Giselle asked, unsure if she'd heard correctly.

"I know we have a protector." Evie said quietly. "I just don't know who…or why…"

"Evangeline, I…" Giselle took a breath, "Yes. You're correct. I've been giving my body in return for…monetary protection, but you must understand, I had to!"

"No!" Evie cried, standing from the bed. "I could have found a job, I could…"

"No love." Giselle cut in gently, shaking her head. "There aren't enough professions for women that could keep us afloat."

"Who?" Evie asked, her eyes looking identical to Remus's and that auburn hair…Giselle's heart began to ache for her husband. "Who is it Maman?"

"Pastor Mason." She replied devoid of emotion, unable to meet her third child's eyes.

"_What_?" Evie whispered. "How could you? No," She stopped, "How could _he_?"

"It was the doctor bills from when Fern had influenza. Remember how close she was to…to…"

"Yes, I remember Maman." Evie said gently, reaching out to touch Giselle's shoulder. "But still…when I think of you willingly…with that…cow…I just want to…"

"What else can I do?" Giselle asked quietly. "You must promise me that you will not tell any of your sisters."

"I won't lie to them." Evie said softly. "But I won't tell them either." Gathering her daughter in a close embrace, she held her tightly.

"I love you Evie, my girl…I'm so proud of all you girls…"

"I love you too Maman."

* * *

"I need to see Erik." Lady Remy growled at Dag. With a groan, ushered her into the house.

"Monsieur Destler isn't home at the moment, Lady Remy…he's meeting with a new client." He attempted to sound gracious, but he could barely muster civility. Pulling a folded letter from her bodice.

"I want to know what the fuck this means!" She cried, thrusting the parchment into Dag's hand. Unfolding it, he cringed as he realized what his employer had done. The note was short and to the point.

_Cressida, _

_It's over. Do not attempt to see me again. _

_Erik_

"After everything I've done for him! I could have had any man in Paris, and I _chose_ him!" She screeched. Dag swallowed, trying to remain calm.

"If you come back later, my lady, I am sure…"

"I will _ruin _him!" Lady Remy went on, ignoring Dag. "Who is she? Who is the little tramp he's chosen over me? I'll kill her!"

"There is no other lady…Monsieur Destler probably has other reasons for ending your…companionship." _And I'm going to kill him when he returns for leaving me to deal with you…_Staring at him with ice blue eyes, she looked positively demonic.

"I will be back…make no mistake Holden. And Erik will regret the day he crossed Cressida Remy." With a flourish, she whirled on the heel of her beaded shoe and walked out with her chin in the air, slamming the front door behind her.

"I hate my job." Holden muttered, turning to attend to overseeing the rest of the servants.

* * *

The Viscountess de Chagny was humming to herself as she flitted about her new home in Hampshire, England. Life had become normal again, as she and Raoul had settled into the estate. Not to mention, they were far enough removed from his parents to live their own lives. The Countess was quite a stifling woman with a closed mind. It was no wonder her two daughters were already married. Raoul's sisters were unlike any two women Christine had ever met. Their ideals and beliefs were so very different from the one's that Antoinette Giry had instilled in her as a girl. It was as if the two women had no idea of their own potential other than to fit in with society and bear children. Katherine was twenty-six and the eldest of the Chagny children, with Rosalie next at twenty-four and Raoul was the youngest at twenty-two. They all looked rather alike with fair hair and eyes.

Christine felt terribly uncomfortable with the Chagnys because she felt as if they were judging her. She knew for a fact that the Comtesse de Chagny had thrown a fit when Raoul had renounced the girl she had hand chosen for him to marry and had defied his parents, instead marrying the penniless opera singer.

"Take her as a mistress…" She'd heard the Countess plead during Christmas the previous year.

"I will not! She is the only woman I could ever marry, Mother. Don't you care for my happiness?"

"This is not about happiness, Raoul!" The Countess had hissed. "This is about producing pure bred heirs for the Chagny title."

"Oh, piss on your pure bred nonsense!" Raoul hissed. "Christine is a good girl…an innocent…she will be a wonderful mother and viscountess."

"She lacks the elegance that is needed." The vile woman had spat. "And besides…there are rumors that she may not be so innocent…her rise to having a leading role was quite convenient, don't you think?"

"Don't _ever_speak that way of Christine in my presence, Mother. I will marry her. If you can't accept it, then you may count on not seeing me again after we wed." A terrible sinking feeling had grabbed Christine's stomach as she stood outside the parlor, waiting for Raoul to emerge. Finally, he had, smiling as if nothing had transpired.

"We have her blessing." He said, pulling her into a tight embrace. Frowning, he noticed that she was not returning it. "Christine? Is something the matter?"

"No." She'd replied. _I only feel inadequate…_ Even after they'd married, the Countess had never missed a chance to make a snide comment about her hair or choice of dress. Even the way she ate had garnered scrutiny from the woman. Finally, Christine had been pushed past her limit when the Countess commented at a formal dinner that Christine must be forgiven for her primal tendencies and lack of manners.

"She's driving me mad, Raoul." She'd said as they'd gotten ready for bed. "I can't take it much longer."

"She's only trying to help." He said lamely.

"Funny way of showing it, don't you think? I'm miserable! She tries to monopolize your time. Your father defends me, but he's hardly ever here!" Christine sighed, turning to her husband. "Don't you see she's trying to drive us apart?"

"She isn't." He insisted, coming to her. Christine backed away.

"I want to move out. You must choose…it's your mother or your wife, Raoul. I won't be ridiculed any longer." Angrily, she took her pillow from the bed and left the room, spending the night in a guest room. Raoul had finally assented the night of the ball at Lord and Lady Saber's.

"We're going to England." He'd said on the ride home. Christine looked at him tearfully.

"Really?" She asked, afraid to hope.

"Sweetheart. I can't in good conscience keep us here if _he's _going to abuse you…I'm a decent man, Christine…and he had no right. I can't expose you to his ignorance." Raoul had squeezed her hand consolingly. "I know you still care for him…you wouldn't be hurt if you didn't, and I fully understand…but what he said to you was unforgiveable." Looking out the window of the carriage Raoul took a deep breath. "I was speaking with a friend of mine tonight, Gideon Rousseau, and he told me that he's been sleeping with a married woman, though no one knew who it was. In fact, I've heard that he's slept with numerous married women."

"_What_?" Christine cried in horror. "As in…_sleeping_ sleeping with them?" Raoul nodded solemnly.

"It seems, that Monsieur Destler, that's his name you know, Erik Destler, has become a very successful architect and is no longer the recluse you once knew. I'm sorry." Raoul had kindly given her a moment to digest it all.

"I can't believe it." She said miserably. "I mean, I suppose it's good that he's moved on, but I hadn't expected it to hurt so much when he threw it in my face!" As she began to cry, Raoul moved closer to her.

"It's understandable Christine…" He said softly. "I can't even bring myself to hate the man…but he's ruined himself. No one else is responsible for that. Let him go…and remove yourself from it. Let's go to England." Looking up into his sincere blue eyes, she nodded.

"You're right…and I've heard England is beautiful…I've always wanted one of those famous English gardens with rose bushes."

"You shall have it, my love…" He said, pressing a kiss to her temple.

Christine let herself sink onto the settee with a novel as a jumble of nerves pooled in the pit of her stomach. The doctor had been and gone, confirming what she'd thought to be true. Raoul would have an heir to his title by summer, assuming of course she gave birth to a boy. She had prepared herself for this day since she got married as the two of the in their mutual innocence had not done anything to prevent it though Christine had to admit that the thought of having a child herself when she still felt like a child was a bit unnerving.

Raoul returned shortly before dinner that night, pink from the cold. Coming into the parlor, he knelt by the settee and grinned.

"I've brought you a present my love." He said. With a smile, she sat up straight and took the box.

"Oh, you shouldn't have…" She said appreciatively, opening it to reveal a locket. "It's beautiful, Raoul…" His eyes gleamed as he leaned to kiss her nose.

"Open it." He insisted. The locket easily clicked open to reveal a portrait of her father. Hot tears burned her eyes as her handsome father smiled out at her.

"Oh my goodness…" She said, her chin quivering. "You are the most amazing husband…" He smiled, moving to sit beside her.

"Merry Christmas, Christine." He said, kissing her before he helped her to put the locket around her neck.

"And now for your present." She said quietly, taking a calming breath. A look of bemusement came to his face.

"What is it?" He asked and she managed a small nervous smile.

"Well, come summer, we're going to have another mouth to feed." A small tremor shook her voice, but she remained calm.

"Another…" He began before recognition came into his eyes. "You're…we're…that is to say…you're pregnant?" Blushing, she could only nod.

"I don't believe it!" He cried excitedly. "Oh, we have to tell someone…Mother! Mother will want to know, and…"

"No." Christine said gently, touching his arm. "I want this to be our secret for now. I don't want to share it yet."

"I…of course." He said, looking a bit put out. Christine soothed him with a kiss.

"After the New Year, you can write your parents and tell them…just for a little while, let's keep it a secret." He nodded, understanding.

"Whatever you want, my love."

"Do you know what I want?" She asked, holding his hand. He looked at her expectantly. "I want to go upstairs and spend the rest of Christmas Eve night in bed with my husband."

* * *

"Are you sure about this, Ansel?" Evie asked, reviewing herself in the mirror. She was attending his parents' New Years ball that night, and he was introducing her to his family for the first time. Evie would have been beside herself with anxiety had it not been for the fact that Bianca was attending as well. Ansel had made certain that they each had a new ball gown, ignoring Evie's protests.

"They're going to love you…" Ansel assured Evangeline as he pulled her cloak around her. "Just be yourself." The sound of frantic footsteps sounded from above and Ansel's eyes suddenly focused behind Evie. Turning, she realized Bianca was coming down the stairs in her pale yellow gown with white beads along the bodice and a tiered skirt. It sat off her shoulders. She looked exquisite with her dark hair bound up.

"Sorry it took so long…Maman wanted me to look extra lovely in case some eligible young men are there." She rolled her eyes. "I just want to dance with someone once." Evie looked down at her own dark green gown, which complimented the auburn of her hair beautifully. Ansel cleared his throat, fetching Bianca's cloak as well and putting it around her exposed shoulders.

"I have…a few friends that will be at the ball, Bianca. I'm sure one of them would be more than happy to dance with you…"

"Oh, that would be lovely!" She said giving him a quick hug. "You are a gem, Ansel!" Evie had to smile at her excitement. Bianca had never been to a ball before, though most girls her age had. Awkwardly, Ansel patted the girl's back before taking Evie's arm.

"Come, let's go now…" He said.

The ballroom at Hollenbeck Manor was decorated like nothing Evie had ever seen before. Garland was draped around the room and a magnificent tree still stood at the corner of the grand ballroom. A long table with refreshments and food stood along the wall and in the center, a golden chandelier sparkled. Lord Hollenbeck, Ansel's father, was a tall man with thinning hair and twinkling eyes. He had the aura of someone who appreciated everything he had and took nothing for granted. A quality that he had instilled in his own son.

"Ansel, my boy…you've brought your lovely companion to meet us…yet, I'm not sure which of these lovely girls are the right one…" Evie stepped forward, trying to breathe.

"I'm Evangeline Lambourne and this is my younger sister Bianca." She answered, trying to remain calm.

"Ah yes…Evie it is, right? And her charming younger sister who so loves sonnets." Bianca's eyes widened as she turned a very deep shade of pink. Ansel, Evie noticed, chose to look at the floor. "Lady Hollenbeck will be along shortly. She is greeting some guests in the foyer."

"I gave Bianca the book of sonnets from my father's old collection." Ansel explained quickly. "That is why he knows about her." Evie laughed.

"I am glad you like my family…it makes me like you even more." He took her hand and squeezed it gently, but for a moment, it seemed his heart wasn't in it. A moment later, however, he was smiling warmly at her.

"There is my mother…" Ansel said, nodding toward a short, stocky woman with light hair. Bianca clung to Evie's side.

"Don't leave me." She whispered.

"I won't." Evie promised. Lady Hollenbeck approached them after talking to her husband with a maternal smile on her face.

"Ansel! This is Evie, I presume?" To Evie's horror, she had turned to Bianca. Shaking his head, Ansel corrected her.

"This is Evangeline, Mother…that is Bianca Lambourne, Evie's sister."

"Ah! The one who loves sonnets!" She laughed. "And we have the writer…Ansel has told us so much about you and your family." Evie decided right then and there that she liked the woman.

"It is an honor, my lady." Evie replied, with a slight curtsey. The woman chuckled.

"See that Ansel? Imagine…someone curtseying to me. You musn't go through the silly motions with me dear. I don't agree with all that aristocratic nonsense…though a few of our guests will differ. The Countess de Chagny to be certain." Lady Hollenbeck replied with a playful roll of her eyes. Evie frowned.

"Are the Viscount and his wife coming too?" She asked, slightly hoping that she would see the sweet girl again. Ansel's mother shook her head.

"No…I'm afraid they moved to Hampshire." She replied easily, taking Bianca's arm.

"Come dear…there are a few men who would find you adorable!" Winking at Ansel and Evie, she ushered the flustered Bianca away from them.

"She'll be fine." Evie said quickly, but noticed a slight muscle ticking in Ansel's jaw. "Ansel? Are you alright?"

"What?" He asked, as if he hadn't heard a word. "Oh, yes…quite." Turning to look down at her, his smile reappeared. "Are you thirsty?"

"Yes…" She replied, following him. Another young looking man approached them at the long buffet table.

"Ansel!" He cried jovially. "Happy New Year!" Ansel grinned, shaking his hand.

"Emile Dashiell!" He chuckled, slapping him on the back. "I haven't seen you in months! Where have you been?"

"America, actually…I've invested in the locomotive industry. Railroads…they're the future. Over there, they even say that one day we won't need horses to pull our carriages." The man, who looked to be the same age as Ansel noticed Evie and smiled.

"Oh!" Ansel said, "This is Evangeline Lambourne, I've been courting her." Monsieur Dashiell smiled.

"Of course…lovely girl." He said, kissing her hand. "Perhaps you can abandon LaSalle here to dance with me once?" Looking at Ansel, she nodded shyly.

"Of course, sir." She said demurely.

"What brings you back to France?" Ansel asked, supportively holding Evie's arm.

"Plans, Ansel my friend." Monsieur Dashiell replied. "Plans for a factory to make engine parts."

"Parts?" Ansel inquired. Dashiell nodded. "It will make things more efficient, you see. Found a capitol architect, I did."

"Oh?"

"Destler, his name is." Evie choked on her punch. "Erik Destler…" The man repeated, giving her a worried look.

"Are you alright, pet?" Dashiell asked her.

"Fine." She squeaked.

"I've heard of him…good things. People are fighting to get his expertise." Ansel said, impressed.

"Well, turns out I was the highest bidder and Destler likes money." Both Dashiell and Ansel laughed heartily at this. Evie wanted to disappear into her punch. "Matter of fact, he's due to be here tonight."

"_What_?" Evie cried, clutching Ansel's sleeve. He gave her a strange look. "Oh, nothing…" She said, trying to sound casual as she snatched a glass of champagne. Both men laughed.

"She's darling, LaSalle. I may try to steal her away from you." Dashiell replied, making Evie blush. Ansel scanned the room quickly as if looking for someone.

"Isn't that Destler there?" Ansel said after a moment. Dashiell followed his look to affirm and nodded. Evie shrunk back into Ansel's side as the other man moved to fetch Destler. As they approached and the masked man noticed her, she thought she saw a flicker of panic in his eyes which was quickly replaced with cold recognition.

"Destler, this is a school friend of mine, Ansel, Lord LaSalle and his friend, Evangeline Lambourne." Evie stood tensely as Ansel shook the man's hand.

"Pleased to make both of your acquaintances." Monsieur Destler said, giving the men no indication that he and Evie had met previously.

"I was just telling LaSalle of our plans for the factory." Dashiell said. "Lawson isn't here tonight…his wife is ill or something." Evie blanched at the uninterested way they discussed women.

"Excuse me, my lord." Evie said, pulling her hand out of Ansel's. "I'm going to go and find my sister."

"Are you sure you shan't need my company?" He asked, his eyes worried suddenly. "You don't think anything's happened, do you?"

"Goodness no. It's just that Bianca is very inexperienced with men, if you couldn't tell and therefore, naïve."

"I'll escort her, LaSalle." Destler said, stepping forward.

"No, really Messieurs…it's quite alright, I…"

"I'd feel better if you were accompanied, Evie." Ansel said softly. Resigned, she took the man's arm. "I'll meet you in a moment." He added, giving Destler a look.

"Well, I never thought I would run into you here." Destler said when they were out of earshot.

"Oh, me either." She snapped. "I'd have thought you were too busy debauching yourself." He chuckled.

"Among other things…" He quipped. "You're acquainted with LaSalle then?"

"Yes." She ground out, unwilling to give this man details about her life. "There! That's my sister there!" She cried, pointing to where the flustered Bianca was surrounded by men.

"Evie!" She cried, pushing her way out of the crowd and rushing to her. "I'm overwhelmed…I don't know what to do…"

"It's alright love…" She murmured soothingly. "Come, let's rejoin Ansel."

"Who is this?" Bianca asked, wide eyed as she stared up at the menacing beauty of Monsieur Destler.

"This is…Monsieur Destler. He is an architect." Evie explained as her sister smiled warmly. "Monsieur Destler, this is my sister Bianca."

"Bianca! Thank goodness…I was beginning to worry someone had…" Ansel began but stopped, putting an arm around Evangeline's waist. It warmed Evie to know that Ansel cared for her sister and worried for her well being as she did. "Thank you Destler…" He added, nodding at the man. He nodded, aloof.

"Mademoiselle Lambourne." Destler said, referring to Bianca. "Would you care to waltz?" She nodded.

"Oh! Thank you, sir." With a smile at Evie and Ansel, she took his arm and allowed him to lead her back to the dance floor.

"I don't like this…" Evie heard herself say. "Ansel…don't you know that man is a rake and…and…" She stopped noticing the pallor of his face. "Oh goodness dear, you look positively ill!"

"I'm fine." He said, sounding anything but.

"You must have eaten something unsavory." She mused. He nodded. The remainder of the night was rather uneventful, with a few men asking her to dance.

"Will you dance with me, _Evie_?" Monsieur Destler said mockingly.

"Not if you were the last man on earth." She replied cheerfully, never losing the smile.

"Do you realize that they've been dancing for three songs?" Destler asked, referring to Ansel and Bianca.

"Oh, they're great friends." Evie replied.

"I'm sure…poor innocent darling…" He cooed and she looked up at him indignantly.

"I'm sorry?"

"He's completely in love with her." Destler said quietly. "Look at the way he holds her as if he wants to protect her from the world."

"Nonsense!" She said dismissively. "He sees her as a younger sister!"

"I've never seen a brother look at his sister like that." The man said with a chuckle. The clock began to chime then, midnight. The New Year had come in and Ansel hadn't been by Evie's side. The guests cheered and began to sing. Among the celebration, people kissed to share the moment. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ansel kiss Bianca chastely on the lips before finding Evie's eyes and smiling. He blew her a kiss as well. A sick feeling began to tickle Evie's stomach. Monsieur Destler was looking down at her expectantly.

"A kiss for the New Year?" He asked with half a grin. Rolling her eyes, she crossed her arms.

"We are both adults…I think we can manage a civil kiss." She said quietly. With a shrug, he leaned down and barely brushed his lips across hers before standing straight again. "See? That was nothing…" She croaked as Ansel and Bianca joined them.

"Oh Evie! Happy New Year!" Bianca said, leaning up to kiss her cheek. Evie returned the gesture, beaming at Ansel.

"Happy New Year…" She said as Ansel bent to kiss her lips as well.

"Indeed, love…" He said, putting an arm around her shoulders.

"Ansel!" Lady Hollenbeck smiled at Evie, before taking Ansel's hand. "Your father has gone off and gotten himself drunk as a skunk…and there's been a fight…could you escort Lord Chilson home?"

"But Mother, I must escort Evie and Bianca home…" He began.

"Oh, it's alright Ansel…" Evie said calmly, though her mind was reeling.

"I'll take them, my lady." Destler said smoothly.

"Really, that isn't necessary…"

"That would be capitol of you." Ansel interrupted. "I would be extremely appreciative."

"I'll have my carriage prepared." Destler said, giving Evie a discreet look of triumph. She sighed in defeat.

"Ansel…will you call tomorrow?" She asked, clutching his lapels. He nodded, kissing her forehead.

"Of course." He replied, giving Bianca a smile. "I'm sorry I couldn't take you home properly."

"Oh, we know you have responsibilities as a host and all that." Bianca said innocently, making Ansel smile.

"Indeed." He said, giving the two of them one last look and walking away.

The carriage ride back to their home was quiet, as Bianca fell asleep against Evie's shoulder and Evie herself tried to avoid Monsieur Destler's looks. As the carriage rolled to a stop, Evie gently urged her sister awake. Grudgingly, she turned to Monsieur Destler as he helped them out of the carriage.

"Thank you." She said. He only nodded. Putting an arm around Bianca she guided her into the house, looking once more at Monsieur Destler before closing the door. Quickly, she helped Bianca undress and get into bed before moving to do the same. A door shutting caused her to jump as she inched her bedroom door open before going into the hall. A dark figure stood there, turning when he heard her footsteps.

"Pastor _Mason_?" She asked in horror as she recognized him.

"Evangeline…" He said, clearing his throat. "What a delectable dish you have become." Shielding herself with her arms, she glared at him.

"Leave my mother alone." She warned.

"She needs my support." He said confidently. "Perhaps I will leave her alone…maybe you would like to step in for her?"

"What?" Evie whispered.

"She's very predictable…" He said, moving closer to her. "I'll bet you are a little tigress…"

"Stay away from me…and my mother."

"I could ruin you, you know…who do you think people would believe? Their trusted pastor, or a widow and her five brats?" He asked, his crooked teeth gleaming in the dim light.

"Stay away from me." She said, her eyes burning with unshed tears. His hand touched her arm.

"You'd be run out of Le Havre…"

"I'd rather die than touch filth like you…I can't believe we ever trusted you." She spat, her head spinning with fear and anger.

"I could force you…" He said, moving closer as Evie closed her eyes. The sound of approaching footsteps came from behind Pastor Mason.

"Take your fucking hands off of her, or I'll dismember you limb from limb starting with the smallest."


	6. Change is Good

**Okay, this is lapsing into crap again, so I need to pick it up...but here it is anyway. **

* * *

Erik took in the scene before him with a wave of nausea. The old, sagging man had cornered Evangeline against the wall and his stubby hand had begun to ease up the pale column of her neck. Her eyes were wide with horror and a few tears had escaped, running a wet path down her cheek. Her lips were trembling and a feeling that he hadn't felt in months attacked him. Compassion. _Shit…_

"Take your fucking hands off of her or I'll dismember you limb from limb…starting with the smallest." He growled, advancing on the lecherous old coot. The man looked him up and down, backing away from the girl.

"Who are you?" He asked, irritated.

"If you don't leave the girl alone, I'll be your worst nightmare, old man." Looking at Evangeline, he held out his arms. "Come to me Evangeline." He said calmly. Trembling, the girl flew past her attacker and flung herself into his arms willingly. A slight change from just a few minutes earlier, he thought ruefully. Gently and instinctively, he cradled the girl's head against his chest as the old man glared at him before leaving. It wasn't until the front door below had closed that Evangeline drew in another breath.

"Are you hurt?" He asked, shaking from trying to withhold his emotions. She shook her head, sniffing.

"I'm fine…" She gasped, and began to sob again into his chest. The warm wetness of her tears soaked through the front of his shirt.

"What is going on here?" He asked, pushing her gently away by the shoulders.

"My family…we're desperate. We have no money…my father died eleven years ago. My mother went to Pastor Mason for advice and she began sleeping with him for protection…"

"Wait." Erik said, interrupting. "That man was a _Pastor_?" She nodded, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. Pulling out his handkerchief, he handed it to her. "Here…wipe your eyes and nose, love."

"Thank you…" She sniffed, sounding congested. "I don't know what to do…I've been trying to write this novel to make enough money for us to live comfortably, but _that_ obviously isn't working out, so I thought maybe if I married Viscount LaSalle…"

"Aha!" He said, knowing that this would come.

"Oh," She said looking a bit mollified. "Ansel is wonderful and I think we suit perfectly…it isn't just about money with him. He's kind and generous and good to my family."

"Especially your sister whom he's in love with." Erik finished dryly. She sighed.

"He is _not_ in love with her…he's not even in love with _me_ yet! He's only been courting me for two weeks."

"Some couples have courted for less." He offered.

"Yes, well…either way, we have to get out of this mess." Evangeline said softly.

"Then Lord LaSalle is no doubt a good match for you." He said, feeling too close to her. "If he asks for your hand, take it."

"I intend to." She said, wounding him for some reason. Another door had opened then as a woman with red, swollen eyes in a dressing gown emerged. A gasp left her as she noticed the strange man in her house. Evangeline went to her, comforting. "Maman, this is Monsieur Destler…he just saved me from Pastor Mason's advance."

"Advance?" The woman asked, looking disgusted. "He made an advance on you? Why would he, when he had just…" She trailed off.

"The point is, if Monsieur Destler hadn't come back, I would have been…" She stopped, looking at Erik again. "Why _did_ you come back, Monsieur?" Reaching into the inside pocket of his coat, he wordlessly pulled out an earring. Evangeline's eyes widened. "It must have fallen off of Bianca when she was sleeping against my shoulder." Reaching out, she gingerly took it. "Will you return to Paris?" She asked. Erik nodded.

"Tomorrow." He affirmed.

"That's too bad…" The mother said. "If you were staying, I would have invited you…"

"Maman, that wouldn't be proper…Ansel is coming tomorrow…" Evangeline started.

"Evie, you aren't the only girl of marriageable age in this house." Erik chuckled.

"Thank you for the offer, Madame, but no. I am not the marriage type." With a quick bow, he began to turn to walk away. "Pleasure meeting you Madame Lambourne. Evangeline." He took one last look at Evangeline before walking down the stairs and away from them without looking back.

* * *

"Evie…we must talk…will you walk with me?" Ansel said the following day when he came to call. Evie nodded, pulling on her cloak with haste. Ansel looked nervous and uncomfortable as they linked arms and walked outside. 

"Ansel?" She asked inquiringly. He took her hand into his own trembling fingers and kissed her palm.

"I know it's rather soon in our relationship…but, I spoke to my parents this morning and…" Her stomach began to tingle rather violently as she realized what he was doing. Biting the inside of her cheek in excitement, she remained silent. "I think we suit. There is no use in waiting…" Reaching into his pocket, he fumbled nervously for a moment before pulling out a ring. "Mother gave me this…it was her engagement ring." Evie held her breath. "Evangeline Lambourne, will you marry me?" Flinging her arms around him she sighed in relief.

"Yes! Yes!" She cried, realizing her mother would never have to subject herself to Pastor Mason again. They would move to Paris with Ansel. A new thought entered her mind as she pulled back to look at him. "Will you allow me to continue writing, Ansel?" She asked. A surprised chuckle left him.

"Oh, Evie…of course. You may do whatever you please. I would never stand in the way of your dreams…" He assured her. Finally convinced, Evie allowed him to lean forward and kiss her full on the lips. It was a pleasant enough kiss, even if it was less than spark producing. He was a very good kisser, though he kissed differently than Monsieur Destler had. _You should not be thinking sinful things like that, Evie! Destler is a murderer and a manipulative womanizer._ "Evie?" Ansel's voice against her lips caused her to open her eyes.

"Hmm?" She asked, pulling away to look at him.

"You just went completely still." He said, putting an arm around her shoulder. "Are you alright?" With a nervous giggle, she nodded.

"Fine! It's all just happening so fast." Smiling at her, he drew her close.

"Let's go tell your mother, love." Ansel said, letting his hand fall to clasp her hand. Evie could only breathe deeply in relief again.

* * *

Erik immersed himself in his work for the entire month of January, refusing invitations to balls, leaving ladies' letters unanswered. It was strange to focus this way again as he once had on his music. Music…he hadn't so much as touched the keys of a piano or an organ in months. Not since before _Don Juan Triumphant._ What a joke that had been… 

He'd tried to compose, but every time he thought of it, there was no inspiration. He was haunted nightly by two things. As always, Christine flitted in and out of his dreams, though she had become more blurry to him lately. It's strange how one could know someone for so long and in mere months, their faces became less than memory. She was nothing more than the past now. There was another nightmare, however. The look on Evangeline Lambourne's virginal face as she was about to be violated by her pastor made him sick nightly. Her pretty face with the small group of girlish freckles across her nose, pale and tear soaked. It hurt. The devil knew _why_, but it made him ache like he hadn't ached in so long. There was something else with her too, something he'd never experienced with Christine. Whenever he looked at Evangeline, there was an underlying lust for her that threatened to break the surface of his calm.

It was too dangerous a risk with her, because there was the chance of developing feelings for her. When she'd run to him for protection, he'd felt the fierce urge to kill the pastor for even leering at her. The scent of her hair had been something different altogether. He hadn't forgotten its summery smell, a mixture between flowers and the sea. In the past nine months, Erik had slept with women who bathed in oils that made them smell like vanilla, lavender and even roses, but none of those women's appeal even compared to the natural allure of Evangeline. It had been strikingly erotic, which was why he had decided to stay far away from her. No doubt she was engaged to the Viscount LaSalle now.

He didn't have time to feel agony, however as Holden entered the room.

"Sir, this just arrived for you." He said, placing a letter on his desk. Picking it up to study it, he recognized Antoinette's handwriting and address.

"Thank you, Holden." He said, dismissing him. The young man stopped, looking at his master strangely. Noticing, Erik looked up at him. "Yes?" The boy smiled.

"Oh, nothing…it's just…you said thank you." He said and Erik raised an eyebrow, attempting irritation. Resignedly, he sighed.

"Yes, I did." He said quietly. The boy left with haste, but Erik knew that he was grinning like a fool even though he couldn't see his face. Breaking the seal, Erik opened Antoinette's letter to read.

_Erik, _

_I have tormented myself for the past week, as to whether or not I should tell you the news. I have received a letter from Christine in Hampshire. She and Raoul are going to have a baby this summer. I thought you should know. _

_Annie_

Thoughtfully, he set the letter aside and buried his head in his hands. Not out of grief as he would have thought, but out of disbelief. Christine, who was still a child in many ways, was going to give birth to a child herself. It seemed unreal to him, and suddenly he realized just how sick it had been to try and force her to marry him.

"Oh bloody hell…" He groaned, reaching for the brandy. The thought of sleeping with Christine made him want to vomit. There had never been any sexual feelings for her, his love for her had been innocent in every way. It had been more of a need to protect her. It had been wrong, Erik knew now. Snatching a piece of parchment and a pen, he cursed.

"Damn it all to hell." He said, beginning to write.

* * *

Paris was lovely, Bianca Lambourne decided, settling into the Hotel du Heureux with her sisters and her mother. Evie and Ansel would be wed in early spring, two months away. Bianca was extremely happy for her sister, but there was a small longing at the corner of her heart that she was ashamed of…one she would never voice. Bianca Nadine Lambourne was hopelessly in love with her sister's fiancé. It was dreadful and she knew she was a horrible person, but she couldn't stop it. He had the look of a golden god, with gleaming blond hair and eyes the color of cider. His skin was bronzed still from when it had been warm and he was not so tall as to be imposing, but tall enough to tower over her. 

In the few times they had ever been alone in a room, they had never lacked for conversation. Bianca felt completely at ease with him, babbling about everything from her fondest childhood memories of going to the seashore with Papa and Maman to the fights she'd had with Evie as a child. Ansel listened with the same easy patience that her father had possessed and his eyes were never hard or cold. She always spoke highly of Evie to him, always having admired her older sister.

"You'll never need to be upset…Evie always takes care of me when I cry or I'm hurt. She's a gentle girl…Papa used to say she had the touch of an angel…and she has the mind of Shakespeare." A laugh left her. "Isn't it funny how Evie is the one who is good with words and I just love to read them? It's like God knew we needed each other!" Ansel had smiled fondly at her, his gentle voice filling the room as he replied.

"Oh Bianca…you are going to make one man so happy some day." His voice was full of affection as he'd patted her head and left to meet Evangeline. She could not bring herself to be jealous of Evie, for no one deserved to be happy as much as Evangeline. Since Papa had died, Evie had tried to make things easier for their mother, claiming chores and cooking duties around the house. Putting all the money from her first novel into paying debts had eased the weight off Giselle's shoulders a bit. Bianca doubted she could have been so selfless with her own money.

Evie and Maman had been trying to hide something from Fern and Bianca, but Bianca wasn't an idiot, nor was she a child. She knew that Giselle had been giving herself for protection, but not wanting to worry either of them further, she had remained quiet. Fern suspected nothing, still being extremely sheltered and naïve.

Bianca looked precisely like their mother, with her dark hair and slender frame. She was not a tall girl, but she was slightly taller than Evangeline. Her eyes were the same color as Evie's, but she had always envied the fiery strands within Evie's thick hair. Bianca's hair was dark and straight as an arrow. One thing she did like, however, was that her hair would shine when it was brushed while Evie's glistened. It was very different, yet both were very pretty. Evie had been the only one to inherit Papa's hair, though her's was a more subdued red with hints of brown in it, while his hair had been positively blazing. Bianca could hardly remember what her father had looked like as she had been seven when he died, but she distinctly remembered his scent. He always smelled of pipe tobacco and fresh grass. Every time it rained and the scent of grass filled the air, she became melancholy.

"Bianca!" Fern's small voice cried, as she burst into the room in the hotel suite. "There's a view of the _whole_ city from the windows!" She said excitedly. "Ansel is going to take us all to dinner in a real restaurant, where Dukes and Countesses eat!" Throwing herself onto the bed, Fern sighed. "Pinch me, Bianca…just pinch me."

"Don't get too excited Fern," Bianca said, trying to be cheery. "We mustn't take advantage of Ansel's kindness."

"It's my pleasure." Bianca turned to see him smiling at her warmly. She had to swallow to try and calm herself as her heart pounded against her chest like a wild bird in a cage. Giselle called Fern, who ran from the room after grinning at Ansel. "How are you settling in?" He asked, sitting in a chair near the door. Bianca sighed.

"I can't help feeling guilty…I mean…we're in the lap of luxury while there are people on the street…and I don't want us to be some leech on you." She replied as he looked bemused.

"You could never been a leech…I genuinely care for all of you." He said, rising. "Who put those ideas in your head?" He asked, reaching out to touch her arm. She shrank away from his touch.

"My conscience." She said quietly.

"Oh…you shouldn't worry about it…I'm happy to do it. I have the money…and we're going to be family soon…"

"Brother and sister…" She said, trying not to sound regretful. He nodded.

"Yes…and as your brother-in-law, I am making it my responsibility to take care of Evie and all of you…" His voice was soft. "I…brought you something I thought you would appreciate."

"What? Why?" She asked quickly. A flicker of confusion lit his eyes as he lifted his arm to reveal a brand new book. Gold thread was woven into the red leather, reading _Romeo and Juliet_.

"You said you'd never read it…no time like the present I say…" He said. Tears stung at her eyes as she took it and opened the cover.

_Two households, both alike in dignity,_

_In fair Verona where we lay our scene._

_From ancient grudge, break to new mutiny,_

_Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. _

_From forth the fatal loins of these two foes, _

_A pair of star-crossed lovers take their life…_

"Ansel…" She said, closing the book. "This is…the nicest gift I've ever received." Blinking rapidly, she did not look at him as she gave him a quick embrace. "Thank you." Chuckling, he smoothed his coat and nodded.

"I thought you'd like it." He said. "We'll see you shortly for dinner…a new dress has been sent here for you to wear along with…" He stopped, reddening. "Unmentionables." A nervous laugh left her throat.

"Thank you Ansel…I think I'll take a bath before we go." For a moment, his face looked pained before he swiftly left the room. She sat down to admire the smooth leather before her tears began to fall against the smooth leather.

* * *

The restaurant was amazing, Evie couldn't help noticing. When her glass had been partially empty, a waiter would fill it before she even needed it refilled. The food was succulent and delicious, each course more elaborate than the previous. She ate as much as her corset would allow before she felt over full and sighed, squeezing Ansel's hand. He beamed down at her. His parents and Giselle sat near each other, speaking softly of children. 

"Ansel was our little miracle." Lady Hollenbeck said, looking at her son fondly. "We tried for years to conceive, didn't we?" She asked her husband, who nodded.

"Yes…it was a bit frustrating because we were expected to produce an heir to my title…" He made a little huff. "Silly things, these titles…we're just simple village people who inherited it by default. I never expected to be a bloody aristocrat."

"Don't curse, love." Lady Hollenbeck said gently, a look of amusement in her eyes.

"I suppose we had the opposite problem." Giselle said, looking at Evie with bright eyes for the first time in months. "Remus had only to look in my direction and we were expecting again…though five is a fine number indeed."

"I only hope we can count on a great many grandchildren." Lady Hollenbeck added. Evie choked, reaching desperately for her water.

"You alright dear?" Giselle asked, concerned. Nodding, Evie drank.

"Quite." She replied, once she had regained her cool.

"Don't worry about it," Lord Hollenbeck said, ever jolly, "You just worry about being a wife first." She nodded, catching Bianca's eyes. For some reason, Bianca avoided her gaze and looked into her plate, puzzling Evie.

Her distance continued even after the dinner as she retreated to bed almost the minute they returned to their suite of rooms at the Hotel du Heureux. With a start, Evie noticed a pile of envelopes on the desk in the main sitting room addressed to her. Taking the first one, she opened it quickly and realized they were all invitations to society events. Everyone must have heard that she'd been engaged to Viscount LaSalle. How snobbish, Evie thought, that she was invited only _after_ she was to join the aristocracy.

_Lord and Lady Remy request your presence at their musicale on the night of February the 3__rd__ at 6 o'clock. Please bring a guest._

Lady Remy…Evie could not picture her at all, so she assumed they must not have met. Deciding straight away to bring Bianca, she moved to tell her. Bianca was sitting up in her bed, reading.

"Bianca?" Evie said gently. The girl jumped so hard the book flew out of her hands and to the floor, crinkling one of the pages. Evie picked it up and handed it to her. "Romeo and Juliet?" She asked with a smile. Bianca nodded, her eyes wide.

"Is…everything alright, Evie?" She asked. Sitting on the edge of her sister's bed, Evangeline reached for her hand.

"You tell me, sweet. You haven't been yourself tonight." Bianca sighed and set the book aside.

"I'm fine, Evie. Everything is just overwhelming…I mean, you're getting married…to…to Ansel…and Paris is so different and once you marry Ansel, things will be very different…" She said quietly.

"Not a bit…things will only be better." Evie promised.

"What about your novel?" Bianca asked, suddenly worried. "Haven't you worked on it at _all _since meeting Ansel?" Evie laughed.

"Of course! I have nearly four chapters finished." She assured her sister. "And I will continue to write once I've married. Ansel is a good man, he'll treat me well."

"I know he will." Bianca said, sounding reassured.

* * *

_To the Viscountess de Chagny-_

_Christine, _

_There are so many things that need to be said, and now that I sit here writing them, I have no idea what to say. So, I'll start with the truth. I'm an idiot. The last time I saw you, I said some things that I regret now. Please understand those were not my true thoughts or feelings. I have been hiding from emotion for many months. So I apologize…to you and to your husband, who has never been anything but a good man. I'm sorry for that and I'm sorry for manipulating you before…though an apology will not suffice for that, its all I have to offer you right now. Make no mistake; I will make it up to you both. I know now that you and I were meant for different paths and certainly we were not meant to end up together as I once hoped. I wish you happiness and the best of luck with your family. _

_Erik Destler_

A startled laugh left Christine as she read the neatly scrawled letter before her. A slight curve swelled her once flat abdomen, though her condition was not quite noticeable yet.

"Raoul!" She called to her husband, who was in the next room reviewing ledgers. He appeared instantly, as if on the edge of his seat waiting for her to say his name.

"What is it, my love? Do you need something? Food? Water? Are you feeling well? Do you want to lie down?"

"Goodness Raoul!" She laughed, as he lifted her off the chaise. "No…nothing, I just received this letter and I thought you would like to read it!" He set her to her feet and took the letter from her. As he read it, Christine watched his eyebrows raise and fall as his lips twitched nervously. It was endearing. Finally, he gave her the note back. "Well?" She asked as he shrugged.

"I don't know…honestly? I don't believe him." Raoul admitted. "He's lied before, why should we trust him now?" Christine smiled, pulling his arm to make him sit beside her.

"I don't know why…but for some reason, I think he's telling the truth." She said.

"You're so calm." He said, putting an arm around her. "How can you be so calm when I jump every time I hear you say something?"

"I don't know dearest." Her voice was soothing. "I think this baby is just having that effect on me." Kissing his cheek, she grinned. "You know what I think?"

"What's that?" He asked, nuzzling her neck. "I think we should invite Meg and Aunt Annie to stay here for a bit. Would that be alright?"

"Anything at all, love."

* * *

Cressida looked the best she'd looked in a while. Her golden hair was piled into spilling curls and small diamond encrusted pins were put decoratively into her hair. Her dress was the exact shade of her icy blue-gray eyes and was cut low enough to entice any man. A necklace of sparkling diamonds sat at the base of her swan-like neck. The entire day had been spent readying herself, for she intended to win back Erik tonight. He was here with two business associates, and hadn't even looked in her direction other than to greet her as his hostess. Her blood was boiling, because his indifference could only mean that he'd either taken to sharing his bed with another woman…or worse, he'd fallen in love. Whoever the other girl was, Cressida was intent on destroying her. Remembering the attraction he'd had to the idiot girl from Le Havre made her want to sink her long nails into the girl's pretty, pale neck. 

Almost by magic, the girl from Le Havre appeared with Viscount LaSalle, a man who Cressida had once fancied. A vague recollection of his engagement announcement hit her, though she wondered who the dark haired beauty on his other arm was. They approached her, and a small look of recognition came to the one girl's face.

"Lady Remy," Viscount LaSalle said pleasantly, kissing her hand. "This is my fiancée, Mademoiselle Evangeline Lambourne and her sister Bianca." With forced pleasantness, Cressida smiled at the shorter girl.

"How delightful." She purred, nodding her head. "What a pleasure to meet both of you…it has been a mystery as to whom LaSalle has engaged himself to." LaSalle's fiancée nodded.

"No one was more surprised than myself, my lady…" She said. Cressida hated her for the innocent and genuine kindness in her eyes. No wonder Erik had been drawn to her. He lusted for wide-eyed gentle, creatures. To Cressida's horror, Erik had finally looked away from his group and was following Evangeline Lambourne with his eyes, confirming her suspicions. "Well, thank you, my lady…"

"Of course." Cressida replied silkily, staring at the girl through heavy lidded eyes.

* * *

The feeling in the room changed as soon as she came in. Erik had no idea why, but something compelled him to look up. It was just attraction…that's all. It would go away. Her sister had accompanied them as well, looking every bit as lovely as he had remembered her to be, though she didn't have the bookish charm that Evangeline did. Although, as lovely as Evie was dressed formally, he had found her much more appealing with her hair in a simple braid, wearing her reading glasses as she'd scrawled notes in his parlor. 

Erik's stomach sank as he noticed Evie and the viscount approach Cressida. The look of recognition on the blonde woman's face spelled murder. He was able to breathe again when they began to walk away and he could not stop himself from moving to greet the three of them.

"LaSalle." He said, in polite acknowledgement. The viscount nodded.

"Destler, good to see you again…surely you remember Evangeline and Bianca?" He smiled down at Evangeline. "Evie and I are to be married."

"What?" Erik said, looking down at Evangeline.

"Lord LaSalle proposed to me on New Years Day, Monsieur." Evie explained gently.

"Oh." He said, composing himself. "Congratulations." With a smile, he turned to the other Mademoiselle Lambourne. "I trust you are enjoying yourself in Paris, Mademoiselle?" The girl nodded.

"Everything is so exciting!" She said in a dreamy voice, though Erik detected a hint of sadness.

"Why Destler, who _is _this charming young woman?" A voice behind him said. He turned to see another of his recent clients, Monsieur Abney, a local art dealer.

"Ah, Abney, this is Bianca Lambourne." Erik said, as the younger man moved to kiss the girl's hand.

"You will save a dance for me?" He asked pleasantly. She nodded, flustered.

"I…yes, thank you sir." Bianca replied, looking at Evangeline with wide eyes. The viscount had visibly tensed, but kept his smile.

"Do you like art, Mademoiselle Lambourne?" Abney asked, stepping between the viscount and Bianca.

"Oh…yes…" She replied thoughtfully, "Though, I can't help but wonder…we see paintings as paintings…but do you think the paintings see us as just a picture in _their _world?" Erik chuckled at the charming little chit as Abney gave him a confused look.

"I…but…they're only paintings…" He stammered. Erik stole a glance at the viscount, who looked wholly enchanted. Evangeline smiled fondly at her sister. It was odd to Erik how the three of them could be so oblivious to the fact that the viscount was in love with his fiancée's sister. Leaning toward the older sister, Erik extended his hand.

"Would you like to dance, Mademoiselle Lambourne?" He asked. She pondered him for a moment before shaking her head.

"It wouldn't be proper…I should give Ansel the first dance." She said decisively.

"Goodness, she's right Erik. Where are your manners?" He spun to find Cressida standing there with two glasses of champagne. "Let the girl dance with her fiancé. Come talk with me…" She purred. Scowling at her, he turned to look at Evie again, but she'd already crossed the room with LaSalle and her sister was waltzing with Abney.


	7. AN: Christmas Fun!

Interesting tidbits about names in Fire and Ice

Evangeline: Bringer of Good News [I chose this because of her profession

Erik: Ever Ruler

Bianca: White [I chose this name for purity

Ansel: A god [for his good looks and kind temperament

Giselle: Pledge [I just liked the name, but it also fits because of her vow to protect her girls

Fern: like the plant [I just like the name and she's adorable, so…

Bethany: place of figs [no real meaning behind choosing this, I just liked the name.

Cadence: Rhythm [It just fit her.

Christine: Follower of Christ

Raoul: Wolf counsel

Annie: Gracious, merciful. [I chose this to be a shortened form of Antoinette for formality, but I love the name Annie.

Marguerite/Meg: Pearl

Florence: Prosperous, Flowering

Philbert: very bright


	8. Complications Arise

**Better...Happy Holidays guys.**

* * *

"What do you want, Cressida?" Erik asked in irritation, taking the champagne from her hands and downing both glasses in mere gulps. She pouted prettily, raising a perfectly shaped eyebrow.

"I'm hurt." She said innocently. "I only wanted to speak to you…as an old friend."

"Cressida," He began sternly, looking at her with fierce annoyance. "We are not, nor have we ever been friends. I have no desire to be your friend."

"You certainly never complained before." She pointed out.

"It wasn't friendship I was after." He replied flippantly. Her eyes blazed icily.

"You bastard!" She hissed. "I could be so much better for you than that mouse!" He realized with a shudder that she was talking about Evangeline.

"She has nothing to do with my decision." He said firmly. "It was purely _your_ fault. I can't stand your idiot jealousy. I have no use for possessive women. It will ruin you Cressida…"

"How _dare _you…"

"I dare." Cutting in, he bore his silvery green eyes into her blue ones. "You are a bitchy, self serving little slut with a need to make everyone as miserable as you are."

"You talk about _me_ being miserable, when you wallow in your own self pity. Why do you hide your face, Erik?" She asked mockingly, hitting a nerve. "You think I don't know what you are…I know. I was there that night you fool." Her voice was quiet and dangerous as he stood, frozen. "I saw _Don Juan Triumphant._ Why do you think I was so keen to get into your pants, Erik? All that intensity and disregard for anything but yourself made me burn for you. I didn't even care that your face wasn't appealing. I recognized you instantly." She whispered. "_I_ will have you Erik…or no one will. The choice is yours." She sauntered away, moving to the next group of unwed men to flirt and flaunt her beauty. Erik struggled to breathe, his eyes burning with unshed tears of fury. His fists had balled and his long fingers itched to wring her swan-like neck. Erik Destler wanted to murder Cressida, Lady Remy as he'd once wanted to possess Christine Daae, just as he wanted to have Evangeline Lambourne in his arms and in his bed. Disgusted, he left the ballroom and headed home to drink himself into delirium.

* * *

February and March had gone by surprisingly in a blur for Evie. Wedding plans and arrangements had kept her so busy; her novel had gone untouched for the past months. Every night she saw her manuscript and a sad longing entered her, but try as she might to write, exhaustion was more persistent and she gave up, laying her head against the pillows. It was strange, not sharing a room with Bianca any longer as the suite of room had three bedrooms and the two younger sisters now shared. Her wedding to Ansel was fast approaching and everything was chaos. It was a bittersweet feeling, knowing in less than two weeks, she would marry the Viscount LaSalle and no longer be Evangeline Lambourne, but the Viscountess LaSalle. She adored Ansel, but for some reason his kisses had become few and far between and he kept his distance whenever her family was around. He'd become tenser, and worry lines etched around his eyes now. His hair had grown a bit long, and light stubble covered his jaw attractively. Evie could think of no one better to spend the rest of her life with.

Of course, she tried to forget that when Ansel did kiss her, the fire that Monsieur Destler had invoked in her was absent. Oh, his kisses were pleasant and warm and lovely, but they were not urgent as the other man's had been. Evie felt shameful even to think of it. The thought of lying with Ansel worried her as well. She knew how it all worked, but when she thought of doing such a thing with him, she felt nothing. Shame filled her, for she remembered the jolt of electricity that had run from her lips to her toes when she had kissed the masked man. Even as she'd pushed him away, the awful need to wrap herself around him had consumed her. Squeezing her eyes closed, she attempted to push the thought from her mind and got up from her bed.

Instinct brought her into the room where Bianca and Fern were sleeping. Smiling fondly at the sight of her sisters, she crawled next to Bianca on the queen sized bed they were sharing. Bianca started, turning to look at her.

"Evie…" She whispered sleepily. "Are you alright?" Evangeline nodded.

"Just missed you is all." Her voice shook with suppressed emotion.

"What is it?" Bianca asked, reaching out to touch her hair.

"I'm confused." Evie admitted. "I know Ansel and I will be happy together, but I have the feeling he is having doubts." Bianca's eyes widened.

"I'm sure he's not, Evie. Ansel loves you." She said, careful to keep her voice low so as not to wake the nearly sixteen year old.

"He's never said so." Evangeline pointed out. "He's become so distant."

"He's probably nervous." Bianca said sympathetically. "Poor dear…" There was a tenderness in Bianca's voice that unnerved Evangeline. Suddenly she remembered Destler's words. _He's completely in love with her…_

"Bianca…" Evie said, thinking aloud. "You don't think he has developed feelings for another woman?" Bianca blushed fiercely.

"Of course not!" She said quickly. "Come now…stop with these silly notions. Let's sleep." Evie nodded and kissed her sisters forehead. "Nothing to worry about dear." Bianca said with a yawn, putting an arm around Evie.

Ansel had come early the next morning, and was sitting up with Giselle when Fern and Evangeline emerged from dressing. Bianca was still getting dress, as she had been braiding her long, dark hair when Evie had left the room.

"You're here early." Evangeline said, pleasantly surprised. Kissing his cheek, she sat beside him.

"I've just been to the church. Everything is set." He replied, easily. He smiled, though she noticed his eyes were not happy. A small pang of sadness pierced her heart. Could Ansel really be harboring feelings for Bianca? Immediately, she felt a horrible sense of guilt. She could never forgive herself if she bound Ansel to a life married to the sister of the girl he loved. Evie did love Ansel, and it would hurt terribly, but she would let him go if that was the case. Bianca came into the room then, avoiding looking at anyone but Giselle as she smiled and kissed their mother's cheek.

"Morning Maman." She said, giving Ansel and Evie a fleeting smile. Evie noticed the same muscle in Ansel's jaw was ticking. His eyes followed Bianca to her seat and Evangeline felt her heart sink, confirming her worst fears. Ansel was in love with her sister and she hadn't noticed. Or maybe she had, but she had ignored it because the thought of being alone was terrifying. She was already nearing spinsterhood, and no men would want her. The only other man she had kissed was Monsieur Destler, who wasn't exactly marriage material. A sudden thought came to Evie as she rose from her seat, turning to look at her family.

"Ansel…I need to take care of something. Could I take your carriage?" She asked. He raised an eyebrow, but nodded.

"Of course, I'll accompany you…"

"No." She said. "I need to do this alone."

"Evie, you need a chaperone." Giselle said sternly. Evie laughed nervously.

"Oh Maman, I'm just going to visit a friend. Madame Giry and her daughter from the opera." She lied. Giselle consented, but looked unconvinced. Ansel walked her to the carriage.

"I don't like you going places without me." He said worriedly. Kissing his lips, she gave him a look that betrayed her melancholy.

"I'll only be gone a bit. Surely you won't mind staying with my mother, Fern and Bianca." Her heart ached as he blanched at the sound of Bianca's name, but he nodded.

"Of course I don't mind." He replied, helping her into the carriage. When he was inside the hotel again, she got the driver's attention.

"I need to go to Monsieur Destler's estate on the Boulevard de Ecole." She said quietly. The footman gave a look of protest.

"But, Mademoiselle, the viscount…"

"I promise to give you extra money for your silence." She said quietly. Nodding, he urged the carriage forward. Evie stomach was wrung into knots as she thought of what she might say to the man when she saw him. She needed advice and she had no idea who to turn to but the very person who had noticed it in the first place.

Monsieur Holden answered the door quickly, looking at Evie with a half smile.

"Mademoiselle Lambourne? Is it you?" He asked, recognizing her from her previous visit months before. She smiled politely.

"I'm surprised you remember."

"I never forget a face…and yours is quite pretty." He added kindly. She studied Holden, who was an obviously young, intelligent man and wondered why he was a manservant for Monsieur Destler.

"Is your master home?" She asked hesitantly. Nodding he led her into the same parlor she had interviewed Destler in.

"Make yourself comfortable, I shall fetch him for you." Holden said, leaving the room. Destler appeared almost instantly, entering the room with a look of stone on his face.

"Evangeline." He said harshly, his face cold. In his eyes, she thought she noticed a hint of panic. "What are you doing here?" A sudden lump formed in her throat as she tried to find the words.

"You were right." She whispered, blinking back tears that threatened to fall. "He's in love with my sister…" Her voice was hoarse. He did not react, but stood motionless in the doorway. "He loves my sister," She repeated, "And now I don't know what to do."

"And you came to _me_ for advice, sweet?" He asked sarcastically. "I don't have a solution for you…I'm hardly a relic on love."

"I didn't know where else to go." She said, a tear escaping and falling down her cheek.

"You should leave, Evangeline…you shouldn't be here." It wasn't a threat, it was a plea. Surprised she looked up at him, his face was contorted as though someone had kicked him in the stomach.

"Why?" She asked, getting up. "Am I intruding?"

"Yes." He said without hesitation. "You are." For an instant, she believed him, and began to leave before he spoke again. "You're intruding my mind…my thoughts…my fucking dreams…you need to leave, now."

"What did you say?" She asked, turning to face him again.

"You have to stay away from me, Evangeline." He said tightly. "Marry Lord LaSalle or if he won't have you…_anyone_…a bloody peddler for all I care, just leave me."

"I don't understand." She said, leaning against the settee for support. Swiftly, he stalked toward her, as her heart fluttered madly in her chest. She settled against the wall as he braced his hands on either side of her head, holding the wall for support.

"Whenever I'm around you, I want to rip your clothes off of your supple little body and do horrible things to you." He sighed raggedly, "Don't you understand now? I want to make you feel things you've never even dreamed of with my mouth…with my hands…" She could feel his breath against her ear. "That's why you need to leave…because I can't marry you, Evie. I couldn't even if you wanted to…I'm a bad person with no morals." She gasped aloud as she felt the tip of his tongue touch her earlobe. "All I am is a goddamned deformed murderer. Run from me Evangeline." He begged. "Go _now._"

As if her hands had a mind of their own, they came to rest on his face, feeling the smooth skin of his exposed cheek, his well formed nose and his eyelid. Her fingertips felt the soft leather of his mask, running along the edges.

"I want to see you, Monsieur Destler." She said quietly. "I'm going to take off your mask." He did not try to stop her as she pulled the leather away from his face. Her heart jumped into her throat as she studied his mangled flesh. The deformity ran from a bit into his hair line, over his right ear to just below his nose. Yellowish skin covered the blue veins that protruded. His beautiful eye was sunken and reddish around the lids. His nose was partially unformed, revealing a nostril in a bit of unrecognizable flesh. Fascinated and horrified all at once, she dropped the mask absently and brought her fingertips to his damaged skin. It was soft and fragile. She noticed he was staring at her intensely, unmoving. She opened her mouth to speak, but her words would never be heard as his mouth closed over hers gently. This kiss was far different from the angry, possessive one he'd given her at Lady Saber's ball. It was the easy caress of his lips over hers, tender and yet lusty. Her breath quickened as his tongue softly parted her lips, tasting the inside of her mouth. As her knees began to give out, he caught her around the waist while she twined her arms around his neck, grabbing handfuls of his thick, clean black hair. A guttural groan emerged from his throat simultaneously with a whimper that had left her.

Evie felt herself being lifted off the ground and taken to the settee. She could feel his hands tugging at her bodice, attempting unsuccessfully to free her breasts from the fabric and to her horror; she was doing nothing to stop him, but had her hands on his wrists and was very nearly _helping_him to expose her. If someone walked in…she would be ruined, but somehow the thought didn't worry her at the moment.

"Monsieur Destler…" She sobbed against his lips.

"Say my first name." He growled as she struggled for a moment, never having spoken it before.

"Erik…" She whispered. "Erik…" Repeating the name, she found more confidence. "Erik." She moaned against his lips. A low sound came from his throat as he pulled away, looking down at her.

"You'd better go." He choked, getting up and turning away. Quickly, he straightened his clothing as she tried to regain her sanity.

"I…yes, you're right." She said. "I should…but, I don't want to. What if I refuse?"

"Then I'll leave." He replied. A startled laugh escaped her.

"It's _your_ home!" She said. The look in his eyes was anything but amused.

"I can't…I can't…" He said breathlessly.

"You can't what?"

"Nothing." He replied, regaining composure. "Go home now." He ordered, leaving her. On trembling legs, she made her way back out to the carriage after she'd rearranged her appearance.

* * *

Christine reclined, trying to relax in the private parlor of her home with Raoul. It was impossible, however because his entire family was visiting them in England for two weeks and the Countess had been giving non-stop advice to her about child rearing.

"You must be firm," She'd said. "You mustn't ruin children by coddling them or holding them all the time."

"My child will not lack for love or affection, my lady." Christine had said moodily. "If he or she wants to be held, then they shall. There will certainly be no shortage of arms."

"Hmpf." The woman had replied. She'd gone behind Christine's back to Raoul too, Christine knew because Raoul's sister, Rosalie had told her.

"She said that she was only trying to help…and that you had been dreadful to her." The girl said with a look of irritation. "She's always favored Raoul, you know…if it hadn't been you he'd wanted to marry it wouldn't have mattered. No girls were good enough for her golden son." Rosalie rolled her eyes. "She'd failed the first two times with Kate and I…and when she finally got her son, she was content and we were forced into the background."

"That's ridiculous." Christine said. Rosalie shrugged, looking at her wedding ring.

"It is what it is…" She said. "I'm warning you though Christine…she will try to drive a wedge between the two of you. He's so good and sweet that he'll do anything to keep the peace, but Mother has always been a vulture. Papa is oblivious."

"I don't know what to do." Christine said miserably, rubbing her middle to try and soothe the restless babe inside.

"Raoul needs to realize what she's doing, the poor naïve boy." Rosalie said. "Kate and I will defend you no matter what."

"Thank you, Rosalie." Christine said, meaning it. The pretty girl nodded, her light hair getting into her face.

"What are sisters for, after all?" She asked, a look of mischief on her face. Christine sudden became sad, missing Meg and Aunt Annie, who were her only family.

"What are you up to, my little imp?" Rosalie's husband, Colin came into the room.

"Nothing dear." Rosalie said innocently. "I'm just telling Christine what mother is up to with her."

"Ah yes…the Countess and her son." He said, knowingly. Christine sighed in distress.

"If I wasn't as big as a house, I would…I would…"

"I know dear. Frustrating, isn't she?" Rosalie said sympathetically. "But you won, Christine. You married Raoul and there's nothing she can do about it now…I mean, _obviously_." She laughed, indicating Christine's swollen middle. Raoul came into the room, looking completely exhausted.

"Christine…I need to speak with you." He said, nodding at Rosalie and Colin, who got up to leave out of courtesy.

"We'll speak at dinner, dearest." Rosalie said soothingly.

"What is it, Raoul?" Christine asked, resuming her knitting.

"You became angry with my mother when she tried to give you advice." He said desperately. Her eyes flashed at him.

"Of course you're going to take her side as always." Christine said quietly. Raoul sighed, exasperated.

"I am tired of being a mediator!" He said. "I will _always_ take your side, but she said that you blew up at her!"

"I did not…" Christine replied venomously. "She told me I shouldn't show my child affection!"

"She's just got different opinions…" He began lamely, but Christine struggled to get up.

"You _are_ taking her side!" She accused. "You know what? You deserve each other, you and your precious mother! She doesn't think I'm good enough for you…I've heard the things she says…she practically_begged _you to make me your mistress and not your wife! She thought I had been sleeping with the managers at the opera…if _she_could have married you herself, she would have. It's me or her, Raoul!" He followed her into their bedroom as she began pulling drawers open and removing clothes.

"What are you doing?" He asked, his voice laced with panic.

"I'm going away…I won't stay here another minute!" Christine said, tears running down her face as she thrust clothing into her valise.

"Christine, don't do this…" He pleaded, but she was resolute.

"No Raoul, unless you tell your mother to leave."

"I…I can't do that." He said quietly, making her ache.

"She tried to drive us apart and she succeeded. Tell her congratulations for me." Christine spat, walking down the stairs past Raoul's sisters and their husbands. The Countess emerged from the library, staring daggers at Christine.

"What is going on?" She asked, and Christine glared at the woman.

"You win! Damn you! I'm leaving…"

"Christine! Wait…" Raoul begged, but Christine did not look back. As she reached out to open the front door, she doubled over in pain, dropping the valise as she fell to her knees.

"Oh no…" She moaned, everything becoming blurry as people swarmed her.

* * *

Raoul sat with his head in his hands on the floor outside the bedroom as he waited for the doctor to examine Christine. The scene replayed over and over again, and the thought that their baby could die consumed him. The rustle of a skirt caught his ears and he looked up to see his sister, Rosalie standing.

"Can I join you, baby brother?" She asked. He shrugged, as she invited herself to sit beside him.

"It's my fault." He choked, tears beginning to fall from his light eyes.

"No…it isn't. It's Mother's fault, Raoul." Rosalie said, taking his hand. "She's been adamant about making Christine miserable since the day you two married."

"I didn't listen to her…" He said, raking a hand through his short, brown hair. "I should have listened…I knew Mother was being ridiculous with her and I ignored it." With a sob, he looked at his sister. "What kind of husband am I?"

"Normal. Raoul…Mother has always been obsessed with you…only you didn't notice it, but I did. Kate did too…No matter what happens today, you need to tell Mother to bugger off and let you live your life with Christine."

"You're right Rosie." He said softly. "I've been such a fool and now I could lose my child _and_ my wife. I've got to tell her how much she means to me. What if something is wrong and they both _die_ and I never get to tell her how much I love her?"

"That's not going to happen, Raoul." Rosalie comforted as light poured into the hallway.

"Lord Chagny?" The doctor asked in English. Raoul nodded, standing.

"Yes? My wife…is she?" The man nodded.

"She's fine…the child is going to be fine…but Lady Chagny needs to remain in bed until the birth. No walking around the estate…no walking up and down stairs." He said. Raoul sagged against the wall in relief.

"Is she…?"

"She is awake and she asked me to send you in." Paying the man, Raoul gave his sister a look of gratitude and entered the bedroom where Christine was sitting up in the bed, talking soothingly to her belly. Noticing him, she smiled reaching for him.

"Raoul."

"Christine…" He sobbed. "I am so sorry…for everything; I'm such an idiot, I…"

"Hush." Christine said, taking his hand and pulling him to sit on the bed with her. "The baby is going to be fine…I just need to rest until he or she is born."

"I believe you…I am on your side…I love you, Christine." He said, putting his head into her lap with his cheek against her stomach. Placing his hands on her, he could feel the child move, which was always interesting and its movements calmed him, reassuring him that there was indeed a very much alive little one inside. He got up to kiss her soundly on the lips and brushed her hair back. "I will send Rosalie in to keep you company, there's something I need to do." He said, and Christine nodded knowingly. His older sister had joined Rosie, so he sent the two of them in to stay with Christine while he sought out his mother.

The Countess was sitting in the lower parlor, her eyes lighting up at the sight of Raoul.

"Darling." She said warmly, but he remained aloof.

"Mother." He replied coldly, nodding at his father, who left the room in understanding.

"Is she going to be alright?" His mother inquired. Nodding, he bore his eyes onto hers.

"I want you to leave. First thing in the morning, I want you to return to Paris." He stated harshly, making her wince.

"But, I don't…"

"Stop it. I know what you've been doing and it's disgusting." He said. "Right now, I want to be alone with my wife until she gives birth to my child. I want to have my own family."

"I was your mother before _she_ was your wife!" The Countess said bitterly. "You would just toss me aside like an old boot."

"No. Of course not. But now I see you _are_ jealous of Christine…" He sighed. "Mother, how twisted could you be? She is my _wife._ She is the _mother _of _my _child. It's time for you to let go…I need to raise my own children now." He said.

"She is an _opera_ singer, Raoul…" The woman said.

"She is…" He agreed. "I couldn't be prouder." Making to exit, he stopped and gave her one last look. "Goodbye Mother. I shan't see you off in the morning. I will be with my wife in our room." With that, he left her.

* * *

Evie trudged back into the suite at the hotel, where Ansel was waiting. Bianca noticed she was drawn and tired looking, her clothing was a bit rumpled. Ansel smiled warmly at the sight of her, frowning when he saw her state.

"Evie? Are you well?" He asked. She shrugged.

"Why shouldn't I be well?" She asked, patting his shoulder as she walked past him. "I think I'll just…lie down for a tick." Evie disappeared into the bedroom and shut the door. Bianca and Ansel met eyes for a moment, each looking away quickly.

"That's odd." She said, and he nodded.

"Yes it is…she was acting strange earlier too." He observed.

"Ansel," Bianca said quietly. "She said the strangest thing last night."

"Oh?" He asked.

"Yes," She went on quickly, "She asked if I thought you may have developed feelings for another woman…" Ansel choked, trying desperately to catch himself.

"What did you say?" He asked, and Bianca eyed him.

"Of course I said, no. You haven't…have you?" He shrugged.

"Everything's happening so fast, Bianca. Who can say what I feel any more?" He was looking at her differently than usual, she noticed and blushed.

"You _must _reassure her that you love her…you _must_." Bianca said, moving closer to him and taking his hand without thinking. He jumped. "Will you? For me?" His eyes became dreamy as he looked at her, though she tried not to notice.

"For you…yes…" He said vaguely.


	9. Motherly Love

"Sir?" Holden said hesitantly, standing in the doorway to his master's study with a tray of various drinks. Destler was disheveled, unshaven and large dark circles had formed around his green eyes. He said nothing, but took the fresh bottle of brandy from the tray and poured himself a new glass. "Will you require anything else?"

"No." Destler replied in a gravelly voice. Holden knew something had happened with Mademoiselle Lambourne the other day. The master had retreated and had said barely two words to him since. For a while, it had seemed the ice around Destler's heart was melting. Now, he had withdrawn, but not precisely as he'd been before. Instead of being regal, he was undone. It was as if everything he'd ever believed in had changed. "Holden." Destler said before Dag could leave. He stopped patiently.

"Yes sir?"

"Have you ever been in love?" He asked and Dag stared at him in confusion.

"No. Why do you ask?"

"I don't know…I thought I was once…but it was nothing but a stupid fancy, an idiot obsession, but now…I don't know what love is. I don't know how to love anyone else." Destler had lost his way, it was clear to Dag. "How old are you Holden?" The master asked.

"Twenty-six." He said thinking that even though he was young, he was old. He had begun his life in the slums of London before becoming a companion to a rich young aristocrat and when he had been of an age, after his mother had passed, he'd boarded a ferry to Le Havre and had eventually come to Paris to make something of himself. He knew how to read and write, and was well educated because of his childhood profession. His goal in life was to climb the industrial ladder. Becoming Destler's factotum and manservant was his biggest climb yet, as the man had found him sweeping outside a bake shop on the Rue Scribe and offered him a position. It was now nearing a year that Dag had worked for Destler and he felt a loyalty to the complex man, despite his icy demeanor and temper.

"Twenty-six…you're still a pup." Destler said, pouring a second drink and offering it to Dag. "I figured you to be near thirty."

"Sometimes I feel sixty, sir." Dag replied, taking the drink. Destler chuckled.

"Don't we all, Holden? Don't we all…" He said, sipping his own. A breathless maid came to the doorway, holding her mop and curtseyed quickly to Destler.

"Sir…a woman is here to see you…" She gasped.

"Send her away." Erik said dismissively, not wanting to see anyone.

"She says she's your mother."

* * *

"Send her up." Erik said coldly, looking at Holden.

"Leave me, boy." He ordered. Holden nodded and gracefully escorted the flustered maid out. Many moments later, a haggard old woman entered the room, the ravaged face showing evidence of former beauty. Time, Erik decided, was the greatest revenge for this woman had once punished him for the very thing that she was now. Ugly.

"Erik…is it really you?" She rasped, raking her gaze over him. "You look like your father."

"What the fuck do you want, Madeleine?" He asked with contempt. She did not blanch.

"I don't blame you for your attitude. I was an awful parent, I know it well." She replied, barely displaying remorse. It sickened him. "Your father died, leaving me seventeen and pregnant." She said hoarsely. "When you came out as you were...I was too young and immature to care for a child with needs."

"You were a bitch." He said without hesitation.

"Yes. I don't deny it…I'm not asking for your forgiveness." She erupted into a fit of dangerous hacking coughs, using a handkerchief. Erik winced at the sight of blood on the rag.

"Good. I wasn't going to offer it." He stated flatly.

"I'm dying, Erik." She wheezed, her eyes watering from her fit.

"You're a consumptive." He said, not bothering to hide his mocking tone. She nodded.

"I was diagnosed last summer." Her forehead was sweaty and he could tell it had taken great effort for her to come here.

"Perhaps there is a God after all." His voice remained aloof, but he had to turn away against the wave of nausea.

"No doubt he is punishing me for the way I treated you." She agreed. "You have a sister too, though I never knew her. She was given into adoption upon her birth."

"How sad for her." He said without feeling.

"She would be seventeen now."

"Ah, so you were an_old_ whore when you bore her." He replied.

"My time in this world is short, Erik." Madeleine said quietly. "I only came to gain closure with you. To repent for my sins against you."

"I won't forgive you, Madeleine." He said again, resolute. She nodded.

"I know it. But I need to apologize before I die so that I don't wait in limbo. I know I won't go to Heaven, but I don't want to spend eternity in purgatory."

"You _abused _me, you bitch." He said, looking at her with disgust. "You _sold _me to those Persian nomads…all because your little man friend didn't like my face. Hell," He said with a bitter laugh, "_You_ couldn't even look at me. You called me a monster, little devil…you were _cruel_ Madeleine…and you have the nerve to come to me only _after _I have gained success. I know you are not a good person, so why have you come really? For money? I think not. Do you want me to find your daughter? I have no inclination to see your little bastard!"

"I don't blame you for your hostility…"

"Oh, bless you for your charity!" He spat. "Get out…out of my house…out of my life, get out!" He became hysterical, fighting wretched tears. "Get the _fuck_ out!" He yelped, sounding disgustingly like a lost child. She did not look at him fearfully.

"I understand Erik. If you choose to find me, I am staying with Marie Perrault in Rouen, I'm sure you remember. I only had to see you once more before I died to tell you I'm sorry." She coughed again. "Goodbye, Son." He heard her leave before he allowed himself to cry into the crook of his arm. He sobbed so hard his ribs hurt and his throat became hoarse.

* * *

Evie awoke later that day to the sounds of low voices in the main sitting room of their suite. Ansel stood at the sight of her, coming to her with worry etched on his handsome face.

"Evangeline…I've been so worried for you today." He said, taking her hands. Smiling at him first and then Bianca, she squeezed his hands.

"Where is Maman?" She asked her sister.

"She took Fern to get new unmentionables." Bianca replied, going to pour her tea.

"Bless the girl…she's going to be sixteen in a month." Evie said, as Ansel guided her to sit in a chair.

"I know it." Bianca replied. "It seems she was just a little thing."

"Well, if that's true then so were you." Evie teased, "You're only two and a half years older dear."

"But not half so naïve." Bianca insisted. "I know something has been going on with Giselle." She explained causing Evie to cough up her tea. Ansel looked at the both of them in confusion.

"What do you mean?" He asked, sitting again as well.

"I think Maman has been…giving herself…to someone for protection. At least before you came along, Ansel." Bianca replied in a whisper. Evie stared at her in horror.

"You don't know who though?" Evangeline replied. Bianca shook her head.

"No. Do you?" Evangeline nodded and Ansel made a sound of disbelief.

"Evie! You knew this and never told me?" He asked. She looked calmly at him.

"I didn't want to scare you off…I mean, it was bad enough he attacked me on New Years…"

"He _what_?" Ansel cried. "After you'd gone home?" Evie nodded.

"He was still there you see after Monsieur Destler had seen us in…luckily Bianca had dropped an earring in his carriage and heard the struggle. He saved me." She said, reliving the awful night with a shiver.

"I _knew _I should have come with you! Who?" Ansel asked, and Evie noticed the look of horror on Bianca's face as well.

"Yes…who?" She asked in wonder. Sighing in resignation, Evie looked into her tea.

"Pastor Mason." She said quietly.

"_What_?" Ansel cried, showing the first anger she had ever seen. "And you didn't tell me! How could you not _tell _me, Evie? I am to be your husband; I should have been there to protect you, I…"

"Ansel. Monsieur Destler did a fine job…we're fine now, don't you see? You _have_saved us, but bringing us to Paris."

"Destler is _not_your fiancé, Evangeline." He said sternly. "_I _am."

"And yet you are in love with someone else." She challenged, immediately regretting her words.

"What?" He asked, taken aback. Bianca looked aghast.

"No, Evie…he isn't! I asked him…he loves you, he…"

"You doubt me?" He asked, looking hurt.

"Not doubt," She said resignedly. "I just see what I see."

"Who then? Who do I love?" He asked indignantly.

"Bianca." Evie said quietly, breathing as she felt a weight lift from her chest. "You're in love with Bianca."

"I'm…" He began, but stopped.

"Deny it." Bianca said quickly, looking terrified. "Deny it, Ansel! Tell her you love her! It isn't me you love! _Tell_ her!" She cried, tears beginning to run down her pale face. Ansel stared at her with a new expression on his face. Recognition of sorts. "Deny it, damn you!" She sobbed. Evie met Ansel's eyes and knew. They were apologetic, yet enlightened. Nodding slightly, she told him it was alright.

"He can't." Evie said quietly.

"I can't." Ansel agreed. "She's right…and I've been so blind." Turning to Evie he looked at her in apology. "Oh darling…in the beginning, it was you I wanted. You're so lovely and sweet…and you would be the perfect wife, but I just don't…" She met his eyes tearfully, but managed a smile.

"I know." She whispered. He turned to Bianca.

"I don't know how, but at some point in all this, I realized it was you I wanted." He said as all color lost the girl's face.

"No…you love Evie…" Bianca repeated weakly. "Don't say things you don't mean, Ansel…you'll break my heart!" Evie looked at her sister in surprise.

"Are you saying you feel the same?" He asked her hopefully. Bianca looked at Evie with tears in her eyes.

"I've tried to hide it for so long, but I can't anymore, Evie. It's shameful and I'm such a bad sister…" She began to cry. "I love Ansel. I love him more than I've ever loved anyone…" Evie could not bear to see her so distraught and went to her, drawing her close.

"It's not shameful, sweet." Evie soothed. "I'm not angry. Only glad I realized it before it was too late." Her voice was full of bittersweet. She hadn't realized that letting go of Ansel would hurt her so badly. With extremely bad timing, Giselle and Fern came back at that moment, walking in the door a flurry of excitement.

"Evie! You're up…good, Fern and I…" Giselle trailed off seeing the uncomfortable scene.

"Maman…can we have a minute?" Evie asked, and without a question, Giselle nodded and pulled Fern by the arm.

"Come darling, let's get these hung up." She said, escorting the fifteen year old out before she could protest.

"I want you two to work this out…" Evie said with a suppressed sob, pulling her ring off. "I can't marry you, Ansel." Standing on her toes, she kissed Ansel one last time and retreated to her room. Giselle came in a few moments after, sitting beside her on the bed.

"Evie, what's going on?" She asked. "Bianca and Ansel…"

"Are in love." Evie finished for her. "I only just realized." Sniffling, she accepted her mother's handkerchief. "I didn't know I cared so much." She said sadly. Giselle looked at her sympathetically.

"You're broken hearted." She said and Evie shook her head.

"No. I don't love Ansel…I know I don't, but…the shock of it aches."

"Darling child…my little scribe…you are afraid to be alone." Giselle said affectionately. "But you needn't worry my love…one day; a man is going to sweep you off your feet. You'll know he's the one. His kiss will make you burn and he'll be all wrong for you." She laughed. "You've gone positively white, my dear. You've met him already, haven't you?"

"Maman…" Evie whispered, feeling sick. "I can't think!"

"Your father was that way for me…he took me by surprise, he did…" Giselle smiled affectionately. "I was but a girl of sixteen, Remus came to work for my father…I was enthralled by him. He was a sailor, you see…you know." Evie nodded dizzily. "He was twenty-two…and worldly…my father told me to keep to my own place…'country girls don't marry sailors,' he said. Ah, bless him. Remus kissed me one day when I was pestering him and I knew then I had to have him. Of course, we didn't actually become engaged until my mother, God rest her soul, found us in a quite compromising position one day."

"Maman!" Evie cried, covering her ears.

"Your father was quite the vigorous young man! I was seventeen when we married and eighteen when I gave birth to Cadence."

"Charming." Evie muttered dryly.

"Got you to stop crying, I did duckie." She said, using an old pet name. Evie let herself be pulled into an embrace.

"Who is this man, who's captured your attention?"

"No one…there is _no_man." Evie insisted. Giselle laughed.

"Suit yourself, Rusty, my love…but I know your lying face and this is it. You disappeared this morning like a bat out of hell…"

"To sort out my head!" Evie cried.

"The good Madame Giry and her daughter have left for Hampshire…you told me yourself." Giselle said calmly. "You said only yesterday they were off to see the birth of the Viscount and Viscountess de Chagny's little one."

"Damned." Evie cursed. "I _was_ visiting a man today," Evie admitted, "But only for advice! You see, Monsieur Destler…"

"The gentleman who helped you that night of New Years?" Giselle gasped. "The masked man."

"The very one." Evie said, "He himself pointed out to me that Ansel was in love with Bianca even then and I had to see him…"

"But you didn't just talk…" Giselle said knowingly. "Oh come dear…your clothes were rumpled, your hair was mussed and your lips were swollen. I know."

"He's the one I'm writing the novel on." Evie replied. "I suppose now I can finish it." She said tiredly. "He's done terrible things…"

"Forgivable?" Her mother inquired. Evie looked at her.

"Not for me to forgive…I couldn't say." Evie replied. "I think he's a victim of the world and its cruelties. He's deformed you see, the mask. I saw his face today, Maman…it was awful."

"Did it affect the way you view him?" Giselle asked rationally. Evie shook her head.

"I barely know him, I hardly had an opinion of him other than he's a rake." She decisively left out the fact that he was also a murderer and a kidnapper.

"Love is funny." Giselle said.

"I don't love him." Evie said. "I don't know him. I am attracted to him…but love?"

"It must start somewhere…" Giselle said, holding her as she had when Evie was very young. "You're going to be fine, my girl. Keep your chin up."

* * *

**Meanwhile…**

Bianca and Ansel stood staring at each other for a long minute, silently. She watched where the door to Evie's room had closed, yet she could feel him looking at her.

"When?" He finally broke the silence. She stared at him with big blue eyes.

"What?"

"When did you realize?" He asked.

"New Years…When you kissed me at midnight." She admitted. "I began to fancy you when you quoted Shakespeare though." With a sigh, she said, "How about for you?"

"Lady Remy's ball, when you were dancing with Abney. No," He corrected himself. "When you made the little comment about paintings. I knew for sure I loved you then."

"Poor Evie." Bianca said, staying distant. He nodded.

"I never meant to hurt her…she's such a dear, sweet thing." He said sadly.

"What are we to do now? Your parents…the wedding…" She said.

"They will understand." He replied. "They want my happiness."

"There will be a scandal." Her eyes were wide. "They'll think we've slept together!"

"Then we'll have to marry soon." He said quietly, his eyes glowing.

"M-Marry?" She asked. He nodded.

"Of course." He said as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "We could go to Scotland and have a blacksmith wedding…" He offered with a reluctant smile.

"Elope?" She asked.

"I'll take you to honeymoon in London." He said, inching toward her. She looked up, her eyes confused.

"It's so fast…" She said. "Me, a viscountess…"

"We could go to Shakespeare's Globe Theater…" His voice began to spark with hope. Bianca, had to sit to keep from swaying.

"Ansel…I'm still trying to grasp the fact that we're marrying." She said dazedly. He knelt before her, finally, producing his mother's engagement ring again.

"But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive, and, constant stars in them I read such art…" He said, placing the ring on her wedding finger.

"As truth and beauty shall together thrive…if from thyself thou wouldst convert…" He leaned up, his golden head covering her dark one as they shared their first kiss. Gentle and tender and lovely. Bianca did not know how to respond, and though she was deliriously happy that they were now engaged, she felt terrible for hurting her sister. Giselle came out of Evie's room and shut the door quietly, giving Bianca a reassuring smile as she returned to Fern, who was undoubtedly restless.

* * *

_The little boy played with his wooden poppets in the small yard behind the tiny cottage. There were three, a mother, a father and a little one, who the boy had drawn a mask on. In his imaginary world, the family lived in harmony with the family taking trips to the shore or a walk through town. He was only nine, but he'd seen the happy families together. An elderly woman appeared calling out to him. _

"_Come on dearie…your mother wants you to bring her dinner to her." It was Nanny, of course, the housekeeper and cook. Erik knew his mother could care less who brought her food to her, but Nanny insisted Erik was the one to do it. With extra care, he balanced the tray and entered her room. She was sitting up, waiting. _

"_Where is the Gin?" She asked without looking at him. _

"_Nanny said we are out." The boy replied. Madeleine gave him an annoyed look. _

"_What am I supposed to drink then?" She snapped, her beautiful green eyes blazing. He shook his head in confusion. _

"_I think there is a bit of brandy…" He said, unsure. She nodded curtly and did not reply as the boy ran from the room to find his mother alcohol. _

"_Nanny!" He cried, "Madeleine wants brandy…" The old woman had pulled it out of the cupboard when he reached her. His hair prickled on his neck as he turned to see his mother's companion, Emile. _

"_Where is your mother, demon?" He asked coldly. Nanny gave the man a look of indignance, holding the child to her. _

"_Watch your tongue, Monsieur Lilienthal." She scolded. "Master Erik is the man of this house."_

"_For now." The man said with disdain. Erik clung to the old woman's dress. _

"_Here then, take your wench her juice." Nanny said, taking the bottle of brandy and giving it to the man. With a raised eyebrow he gave the child one last look of contempt and left. Erik flew from Nanny's arms and went to listen at his mother's door. _

"_How long, Madeleine? How much longer must we deal with your devil spawn?" Emile asked. She cooed to him. _

"_You needn't worry, my sweet..." Erik began to cry into his knees, clutching the stuffed pet that he'd received as a babe. A monkey it had once been. _

_Later that day, Erik was polishing the silver in the sitting room, when his mother called to him in a sweet voice. _

"_Erik, my darling…my love…come to Mother…come to Maman…" She beckoned. Intrigued and hopeful that she had rid herself of Lilienthal, he ran to her. She opened her arms and drew him to her, kissing his cheek. He felt himself being lifted. _

"_Maman…I've waited so long…have you sent Monsieur Lilienthal away?" He asked with childish hopefulness. _

"_Yes my darling, yes…let's go enjoy the air together…" She soothed as he nestled his head into the crook of her neck. Feeling the warm air, he smiled, thinking it was finally going to be good again. Until Madeleine spoke again. "Here, I've brought the product, now give me the money." Erik looked up into the face of a dark man with a thick beard. _

"_What?" He asked, searching for Nanny. He found her being restrained by Lilienthal. _

"_Nanny!" He sobbed as Madeleine threw him at the Persian when the gold touched her hand. "Nanny, don't let them do this!"_

"_Erik!" The old woman sobbed. _

"_Help me! Maman…don't!" The little boy cried as his wrists were bound. "Don't send me away! I'm sorry! I'm sorry for everything! I'll go buy you fresh gin right now!" He was hoisted into a carriage with bars on it as he screamed, watching his home grow smaller. Madeleine and Lilienthal laughed together, kissing as Nanny fell to her knees on the ground. _

"Sir." Holden's voice entered Erik's dream. He jolted awake.

"Fuck!" Rubbing his eyes, the young manservant came into focus. "What is it, Holden?" He asked, noticing the folded paper in the boy's hands.

"Mademoiselle Lambourne has married the Viscount LaSalle." Holden said, reading the society paper as he informed his master. Erik scowled, but sighed in relief.

"Good." He said with arrogance to mask the pain. The month of May was halfway through now, and Erik had tried to forget Madeleine's mangled face and wretched twisted limbs. He tried to forget the way his heart had ached when she'd coughed up blood into her rag. Checking the time, he realized he needed to go and finalize building plans for the factory with Dashiell and Lawson. "Holden, I'll be home in three hours…tell Marietta to cook chicken in chestnut sauce." The boy nodded and left the room.

The meeting was fast and to the point, over in less than an hour leaving Erik with nothing to do until dinner. The fleeting thought of going to a brothel entered his mind and left as quickly as it had come. Walking out of the office building, Erik caught a glimpse of the Opera Populaire and felt a quick pang. He had forgotten how close the office was to the opera. Some unknown force drove him toward the building that he had made his home for so long.

"Oh! Excuse me! Oh damn!" A distressed female voice a few yards away caught his attention. Looking over, he noticed her face was covered by her brilliant loose auburn hair which was blowing in the wild wind from the impending storm. With a start, he recognized her.

"_Evangeline_?" He heard himself ask. Brushing her hair out of her face, her eyes lit up.

"Monsieur Destler!" She said, looking a bit relieved.

"What are you _doing_ here?" He asked in confusion.

"Well, right now I'm trying to get a hansom cab because the sky is going to explode…" She answered, scanning the empty street.

"No…" He said, trying to sort things out. "I mean, aren't you supposed to be honeymooning on the Mediterranean with the Viscount LaSalle or something?" She laughed, brushing her hair back.

"The darned cap blew straight off my head and the pins wouldn't stay." She explained, trying to keep her hair out of her face. Adorably, her spectacles sat on her nose as they had the first time she'd come to his house. "Actually, I'm not married to Viscount LaSalle." She said, putting her notepad into her satchel.

"But…the papers…said you married him." Erik replied lamely. She chuckled.

"Mademoiselle Lambourne, you mean." She said as he nodded. "My sister. Bianca…you remember." Erik felt a sense of anxiety begin to overtake him.


	10. Little Lotte

Evie sighed as it began to rain, thinking that she would have to wait until a hansom appeared, but to her surprise Monsieur Destler offered her his arm. Why was it that she always met men in the rain?

"Why don't you share my carriage, Mademoiselle Lambourne?" He asked and she could not suppress a smile. _Perhaps he can marry Fern now…_She thought wryly, thinking of poor Ansel.

"So we're back to formalities, are we?" She teased, feeling unnaturally heavy hearted. "Very well…though I have to stop at the doctor's house for some medicine my mother ordered. Fern is sick."

"Your sister?" He asked. Nodding, she allowed him to help her into the vehicle.

"She's been coughing a bit and she has a slight fever." Evie explained, thinking that it had been the second time in two years that Fern had been ill. In fact, it seemed to be a direct relapse of what she'd had before. It worried Giselle and though Evie tried not to show her own trepidations,

"I see." The man replied, sitting beside her but not close to her. To her surprise, however, Monsieur Destler asked to come into the new townhouse she, Fern and her mother now lived in so he might have a look at Fern. Cautiously, Evie consented and followed him into her sickroom. She was sleeping, of course, and there was a pale, luminescent tone to her skin. Her dark hair made her seem all the paler. Giselle had chosen not to write to Ansel and Bianca yet since they were still on their honeymoon and it would not do to worry them about things that weren't serious yet. She had, however written to Cadence and Bethany, who was now also expecting finally. Cadence had given birth to a healthy girl in April, whom she named Mirabelle.

In two months, Evie would turn twenty-four and in all her life she had never dreamed she would still be unmarried by that time. Most women her age had children by the age of twenty-two. It was a daunting thought and yet, she was not ashamed of it. She had progressed on her novel greatly, though something was still vexing her. How exactly had the Phantom gotten down to his lair? Where were the traps? Madame Giry had kindly been giving her details, but details were not enough. Evie had to see them for herself to _know _them. She had to live them to write them.

Monsieur Destler looked over Fern as impartial as any doctor would, but there was a humane way about his touch. He regarded her as one might regard a small sickly pup. With a grim look, he turned to Evie and motioned for her to come to the bed.

"What's the matter?" She asked and he held up the girl's limp wrist.

"Look here…there is a rash." He observed. Peering closer there were tiny red bumps all over Fern's arm.

"Oh my…" Evie looked up at him.

"I think your sister may have Scarlet Fever." Monsieur Destler said quietly.

"But…people d-die from that." Evie said, blinking back sudden tears. He gave her a slightly sympathetic look.

"Not always, pet." With a sigh, he covered Fern and put a hand on Evie's shoulder. "You need to tell your mother to send for the doctor, I'll wait here for you." With a nod, Evie turned and fled down the stairs in search of Giselle. She found her in the sitting room with her head in her hands.

"Maman." She said quietly and her mother looked up.

"Evangeline…what does Monsieur Destler think?" She asked curiously. Evie's resolve crumpled as she began to cry.

"He thinks Fern has S-Scarlet F-Fever…she has a r-rash." Evie sobbed. Giselle gave a great sigh.

"I thought she might as well…I've already sent Stephen out for the doctor." Stephen was one of their few servants. Since Ansel had helped them move, he insisted they have a cook and a butler and one housemaid.

"It's one thing after another isn't it?" Evangeline said, staying near the doorway. "We get settled in and then this…what is wrong with us?" Giselle looked at her tiredly.

"Things will get better…" She said, though she didn't sound quite so sure. "It probably isn't Scarlet Fever."

The doctor, however, agreed with Monsieur Destler, turning to Giselle with a sad look.

"It is Scarlet Fever, Madame, though luckily it is still early. I'll start her on a treatment right away." He said easily. Evie peered around the corner from where she'd been standing in the hall with Monsieur Destler. They hadn't said anything to each other the entire time the doctor had been in the room. Her mother was pale, but looked a bit relieved anyway.

"I should go." She heard him say behind her. Quickly she turned around.

"No, you can't!" She said quickly and tried to think of a reason why. He raised an eyebrow.

"I can't?"

"No…I forgot!" Another thought came to her. "I would like you to show me the secret passageways at the opera!"

"What?" He asked, taken aback. Resigned, she sighed.

"For my novel." She said hesitantly. "I can't just write based on details…I need to see them myself." His lips twitched and for a moment she thought he might smile, but he shook his head.

"No. It's not safe. They haven't been kept up…something could happen…"

"Please." She asked, unknowingly reaching for his hand. He snatched his arm away quickly.

"Why would you trust me?" He asked rationally. "I am a murderer and untrustworthy. I am known to be unstable." His voice was calm as a summer day.

"You won't hurt me." She said, not quite sure why she was certain of that, but she was all the same.

"I could try to force myself on you…" He said.

"Oh?" She replied, folding her arms. "Would you?"

"Perhaps." His voice was low.

"Monsieur Destler," She sighed, irritated. "Will you or won't you take me? I'm tired of your elusiveness." His eyes grew dark for a moment, but he gave a nod so slight she wasn't sure if she'd imagined it or not.

"Be at the opera house tonight after it's dark. Can you steal away when your mother and sister have gone to sleep for the night?" She nodded. "I'll take you the same way I took Christine. Once and only once will I consent." He replied, turning swiftly and walking away from her.

* * *

She was there even before him, waiting in that wretched dressing room. It had been odd, coming back into the Opera Populaire this way, but it almost felt as if he hadn't left. He moved about in secret as he had then with ease. Evangeline was staring at him, wide-eyed in the darkness but for a single candle she held. Her hair was braided down her back and she had on a loose fitting day dress, obviously unsupported by a corset.

He said nothing as he moved to open the mirror, touching the exact sensitive spot to trigger the latch. Sliding it open, he turned wordlessly to the girl and offered her his hand. She took it, holding up the candle to observe every bit of the tunnel. To his surprise, she had no note pad with her. Reading his mind, she smiled.

"I don't need it. I'll remember." She whispered. Her hand was warm and soft and smaller even than Christine's had been. She was quite a small woman, barely taller than Marguerite Giry. Her head hardly reached his shoulder. He tried to ignore the little noises of exclamation she made at each new discovery. He tried to disregard the way she clutched at his sleeve when she was nervous or excited. They finally came to the staircase winding down to the underground lake. Erik became very aware that the trap that Raoul de Chagny had fallen into was still gaping and grabbed her around the waist before she made another step. Gracefully, he pulled her up into his arms as he stepped over the hole and it the lever which made it close safely again. It creaked something awful as it had not been used in over a year. She took note of that even, he could tell as she watched his movements like a hawk.

His breath caught as the slight form of his gondola sat against the bank where Raoul and Christine had left it tied. Gently, he set Evangeline to her feet and took the candle gingerly from her, using it to light the lantern on the boat.

"Get in." He instructed. She allowed him to help her settle into the cushioned boat as he stood expertly, moving it as if he had still done it every day of his life for the past year. After a few minutes of pushing along, the sight of his wrecked former home came into sight as well. He cringed at the horror of it. His beautiful things had been shattered and destroyed. The doll of Christine lay in pieces. Draperies were shredded and his beautiful pipe organ had been maimed by the angry mob. What wasn't destroyed was missing as the scavengers had stolen what they liked and kept it or pawned it for a profit.

"Oh my…" Evangeline murmured as he helped her out of the boat. She looked around in wonder, picking up an ivory key that had been detached from the organ. Ripped drawings and shards of wood were everywhere. Everything he'd spent his life building…wasted in one fell swoop.

"Fucking ridiculous." Erik muttered, leading the way into the bedroom where the elaborate swan bed lay covered in dust and cobwebs.

"That is the most beautiful bed I have ever seen." Evie said in awe, staring past Erik at the bed, which was still covered in the red satin sheets.

"It's from Persia." He explained with surprising ease.

"It's such a shame that it's hidden away down here…" She murmured, walking toward it and touching the dust covered sheet.

"I couldn't really take much when I left." He countered, staying near the door while she explored. Shockingly, the clothes he's bought for Christine hadn't been touched by the mob. Evangeline barely touched anything, but let only the tips of her fingers run along everything. The sight was terribly erotic because she was so innocent of it. Erik felt like he was choking and reached up to loosen his cravat and collar. Instead he ended up untying the cravat all the way and unbuttoning the first few. Evangeline didn't even notice as she moved about.

"You brought her down here that night?" She asked quietly. He nodded.

"She fainted and I had to carry her in here to sleep." His voice sounded distant like it wasn't his own.

"Where did you sleep?" She asked curiously.

"I didn't." He replied. "I couldn't…it was the first time I'd ever actually been in a room _with_ her. The first time I'd touched her in nine years…I couldn't sleep. I watched her sleep for a bit and then I left the room."

"How did you _live_ down here?" She asked, her face illuminated by the dim candle.

"I just…did." He answered, unsure of what else to say. Now, he couldn't imagine ever living here again. He'd grown too accustomed to being around people again, to being out in the sunlight. Never again could he commit himself to that solitude again.

"I understand." She said, and he truly thought she did when she said it. "Well," She said, coming back to him and taking his arm. "Shall we go?"

"You are so lovely that way." He heard himself say.

"What?" She asked with a nervous laugh. "I'm all dowdy and ready for bed…and it's not like you to flatter, so…stop."

"Yes you should go to bed…" He replied drunkenly. _To mine…_

"Monsieur Destler…" She began. He made a slight sound of desperation.

"What will it take for you to call me by my first name?" He asked, feeling himself move closer to her. She stared at him silently with eyes wide.

"It's improper." She said firmly.

"I call you Evangeline." He offered and she looked a bit uncomfortable.

"Yes, but you have never really held regard for propriety…I mean, you did nearly ravish me in your parlor." Erik thought he saw the tiniest flicker of a smile in her eyes. "If anyone had seen, you would have had to marry me."

"Good God." He muttered, studying her. "You would hate me as a husband, Minx." He said after a beat.

"I don't know…you were very nice with my sister today." At the mention of her sister, her eyes began to shine with tears. A fact she tried to hide.

"Here." He said, handing her his handkerchief. "And I'm never mean to the ill…they're already suffering. It's the healthy I like to make miserable." A startled laugh left her, as though she were surprised to find that amusing.

"You are a devil, aren't you?"

"You have no idea, my sweet." He replied dryly. "You have no idea how much danger you're putting yourself in just being down here with me. I could just…I don't know, sweep you up and throw you on that bed." She pulled away from him in alarm. "If I had my way, I would have had you already…don't you see? You should have stayed away from me."

"I…" She began to protest, but he was intent as he cornered her.

"And the truth is…you want me too. Don't look like that," He chided at her look of shock, "it's true, isn't it? You came down here with me because deep down, you _hoped_ something would happen. You had a taste for wickedness."

"I did _not_!" She cried indignantly. "I thought you already had someone to bed…that Lady Remy seemed pretty chummy with you!"

"Is that jealousy I detect, Mademoiselle Lambourne?" He mocked her, loving every minute.

"_No_!" She screamed at him. "But I'm nobody's mistress! I wouldn't consent to be anything less than your wife!" He grinned at her.

"So you're saying you want to marry me." He replied. A small growl of frustration left her.

"No! I…that wasn't what I meant."

"I know perfectly well what you meant, no need for the defensiveness." He assured her. "And to make something perfectly clear, I broke it off with Lady Remy months ago."

"Oh." She said lamely. "I didn't know…I'm sorry."

"I'm not." He said quickly. "Cressida was a deceitful, jealous tart."

"What would that make me?" She asked acidly.

"Perfect." He replied simply. "Too good for me." With a resolute sigh, he took her arm again. "Come, you need to go home before your mother wakes and sends the police after us. Then we'd _really_ have to marry."

"Oh, she'd like that…she _wants _me to get married." Evangeline replied innocently. He chuckled, leading her out and into a different passageway behind a tattered drape.

"No to me she doesn't." He said and refused to speak any more on the matter.

"Is it me, or marriage in general you're opposed to?" She asked.

"It's _me_, I'm opposed to. I'm no good…I used to kill people for sport. I killed two men out of spite and three people died because of my stupidity."

"Yes." She agreed. "There is that. Answer me this, Monsieur…would you ever hurt your wife and children?"

"Children!" He choked. "I wouldn't wish this atrocity on anyone." He said gruffly.

"Stop that now…" She scolded. "_That_ is something that wasn't your fault and the chances of passing it to another generation seem slim. It was simply a defect in your birth."

"I'm not sure, but I am sensing that you are trying to convince me to marry, which means you do like me…"

"Yes, I like you. God knows why, but I like you." She said. "You're stubborn, arrogant, not to mention you don't care about boundaries…and you're…" She stopped suddenly, "All wrong for me."

"No love, I'm all wrong for everyone." He corrected. They made the rest of the walk silently out to the Rue Scribe where his carriage was waiting. He helped her into the carriage and sat beside her. He noticed the way her eyes were falling closed every so often. Finally on the way to her house, she fell asleep against his shoulder and a horrible feeling washed over him that he refused to identify. He only knew that he needed to stay as far away from her as possible.

* * *

Christine's time came earlier than expected, in late May. She was sitting up in bed, reading while Raoul was out with some potential business partners. He was looking to invest money into a company. Truthfully even for his young age, Raoul had proved to be quite smart with money and had a natural flair for investing. In just one year of marriage, he had doubled his fortune.

Christine had received a letter of apology from the Countess a few weeks after her departure.

_Christine, _

_I am writing to apologize for my behavior over the course of your marriage to my son. You see, we had tried for years to have a boy and when Raoul was born, it was a very difficult birth. He was very small and we worried he might not make it. For this, he was spoiled by me. It's been very hard for me to let go…but I have to because now he needs to be a father to another child. Your child. I think of how lucky this child is to have you both as parents. Raoul, who was so sheltered and you who was forced to grow up long before your time…I held your dear father in very high regard. I've made so many mistakes in my life, but I know I am doing the right thing now, for once. I'm so very sorry I was difficult with you. _

_Florence…Mother_

A small smile came to Christine's face as she folded the letter and placed it back on her bedside table. As she made to settle back into the pillows, a surprising trickle of something wet ran over her leg.

"Oh…Oh dear..." She said, as she made to ring for a servant before she was cramped with pain. A maid appeared right away.

"Yes my lady?" She inquired. Christine spoke slowly.

"I…er…I'll need the doctor straight away. And my husband…someone needs to tell my husband. I'm having the baby." The maid's eyes grew large but she bowed quickly and sprinted from the room. Raoul arrived at home over an hour later, and Christine was still lying in bed waiting. The doctor was there and had told her it wasn't quite time to push yet, so she was trying to breathe through the contractions which had began to come closer together now.

"Christine?" Raoul asked, his voice cracking as he came into the room.

"Oh…Raoul." She said in relief. He looked from her to the doctor.

"Have I missed it?" He asked, confused as to why nothing was happening. She tried to laugh.

"No dear…it's only begun." She said apologetically. "You're going to stay?" She couldn't hide her surprise. Most men sat and drank somewhere that didn't involve witnessing the birth of their children. Raoul looked taken aback.

"Well…of course I'm staying…I mean, it seems only right since I did this to you." He said quietly, making her laugh as she patted the bed beside her.

"Then hold my hand." She replied. Another hour passed before she was ready to push and she knew it was time because her body seemed to be pushing without her approval. "Doctor Hammonds!" She groaned. "I need to…"

"Yes dear…it's time." The older man nodded, readying himself. "Count to ten each time you push and relax a moment until you feel the next contraction." Within three or four of these pushes, the head became visible. She knew because Raoul chanced a look between her legs and grew very white. An anguished moan left Christine as she tried to find the strength to ready herself. The pain was white hot and there was no relief.

"Raoul!" She cried, squeezing his hand as another contraction hit.

"What?" He replied, his eyes watering from how obviously hard she was gripping his hand.

"Get it out of me!" She screamed. "Get it out _now_!" He looked down at her in horror.

"I…just keep pushing. You're doing great." His voice was lame.

"You're nearly there, my lady." The doctor assured her. Sure enough, she had begun to push, when the pressure disappeared and she was able to breathe again. A shrill wail filled the room as Doctor Hammonds produced the child, a girl.

"Oh thank _God_!" Christine cried, falling back into the pillows, too tired to even cry at the sight of her baby. While the doctor attended the afterbirth, the doctor's assistant cleaned her off and wrapped her appropriately, handing her to Christine, who peered down into the fair haired infant's face. "Are you as tired as I am, my sweet?" She asked. The baby seemed to understand with her sparkling blue eyes and began to close them. "Here Raoul, do you want to hold your girl?" She asked and he stared at her in a dumbfounded shock, but nodded, sitting beside her again.

"Support her head." Christine said, handing her over to him. His face was pale and he looked tired, but he was smiling. "She's going to look like you…I can see it already."

"But she'll have your features. Look…" He said, indicating the baby's mouth. "Her lips are identical to yours." He smiled hesitantly at Christine. "Can you believe it? We're parents barely a year after we married."

"Oh I believe it." She said. "I just lived through that…I certainly believe it."

"We have to give her a name…" He said, and Christine could tell he was thoroughly enthralled with the girl who had only been in the world less than ten minutes.

"Her name is Lotte." Christine said, suddenly feeling tearful. "Lotte Isabelle." As this sunk in, Raoul's eyes began to water again, though she suspected it was not from pain. Bringing his lips to her forehead, he set the baby back into her arms.

"I love you so much, Christine…thank you."

" It was my pleasure." She teased, as the baby easily fell asleep.

* * *

**Sadly, Christine and Raoul will not make another appearance for a few chapters. But A LOT is going to happen very soon. **

**Syd**


	11. Penance

**The plot thickens!!! More on Dag as well...**

Fern's condition steadily worsened over the course of the week, as her fever grew higher and her tongue took on a reddish, speckled color. Giselle was beside herself, Evie knew and once again the novel had been pushed to the back burner. Monsieur Destler stopped by once a day to check her progress, but was surprisingly distant and cold to Evie. Giselle had finally written to Ansel and Bianca to tell them of the illness. Fern grew so weak that she couldn't even lift her hand to feed herself.

"I want to be honest." The doctor told Giselle one afternoon while Evie waited in the hall, listening. "It doesn't look good. If I were you, I'd start preparing a funeral for her."

"Doctor." Giselle's voice was unnaturally calm. "I am not going to give up yet. This is my fifteen year old daughter." Evie could bear to hear no more and left to go into the kitchen and sit at the table. Unable to hold back anymore, she put her head into her arms and began to cry.

"Evie?" The dark male voice caused her to jump so violently she hit her knee on the table. She looked up to see him standing there.

"Monsieur Destler." She said, not caring at that moment if he saw her with tears running down her face. His face was set.

"What's wrong?" He asked gruffly, as she got up.

"It's F-Fern…the doctor said he doesn't think she'll make it."

"The hell she won't." The man said, putting an arm supportively around her shoulder and guiding her back toward the sickroom.

"What are you doing?" Evie sniffled and he looked down at her intently.

"We're getting rid of that fucking…" He stopped himself when she winced. "That hack…and we're going to move Fern to my house. I'll get her the best doctors in France…in Europe if need be."

"Oh, no…Monsieur…we could never repay you…"

"We'll talk about payment later. Right now, let's get your sister well." He said and her stomach dropped, but she kept silent as they came into the room. Giselle looked up in surprise, her eyes red with tears.

"Monsieur Destler." She said almost in relief. He nodded at her, but stalked toward the doctor.

"Doctor Latimer…we will no longer need your services…thank you." Evangeline gasped, meeting Giselle's shocked eyes as well.

"Monsieur, I do not take my orders from you. You aren't in this family…" The doctor said a bit arrogantly. Destler moved closer.

"Don't test me, Latimer…" He said, pulling some money from his pocket. "Here, this should soothe your wounded ego."

"I will only leave if it is the wish of the family." Latimer replied, though he seemed somewhat appeased by the generous sum of money in his hand. "I mean, you really have no place making decisions for the Lambournes…"

"That woman," Destler said, pointing at Evie, "Is _my_ fiancée."

"What?" Giselle asked.

"What?" Latimer responded.

"_What?_" Evie cried in utter shock. A sly twinkle in the wicked man's eye made Evangeline shift uncomfortably.

"Oh darling," He said in a completely different voice, "No use hiding it now…tell Doctor Latimer…" Evie made some incomprehensible noise that came from the depths of her throat. His eyes said, _I'll explain later…_ She gave a slight nod.

"Oh…right…" She said, following his lead and making certain not to look at Giselle. "No, it's fine Doctor…he's right…we just…hadn't decided to…to…_tell_ anyone yet." She gave a pointed look to Destler. The doctor left without another word before Giselle's shrill voice rang out.

"When…where? _How?_" She stuttered and Evie shook her head.

"Maman…we are _not_engaged." She said quickly. "Monsieur Destler just said that to get rid of that moron." Destler had reverted to his normal state of indifference as he looked over the sleeping girl.

"Oh." Giselle said, though Evie detected a hint of disappointment in her mother's voice.

"Maman, we're going to take Fern to Monsieur Destler's and he's going to get her the best doctors…" Evie said and Giselle looked mortified.

"Oh…we couldn't! Monsieur, I refuse to impose…"

"No imposition." He assured Giselle, turning to her. "I insist. I'll have my men come for your things later. First, let's get Mademoiselle Fern to the carriage and take it from there." By early evening, they had been settled into Monsieur Destler's massive home and a renowned doctor from England had been sent for. Each had their own luxurious bedroom with silk sheets and plush carpeting. Word had been sent to Bianca and Ansel to come there to see them. Evie was restless in the large house, as Giselle had stationed herself beside Fern's bed and had no intention of leaving her while Destler had disappeared for over an hour into his office.

"Mademoiselle?" A gentle male voice came from the doorway. She turned to see Monsieur Holden standing there, holding a tray of food. "Monsieur Destler had these sent for you…" He said, setting the tray on the table in the parlor.

"Thank you Monsieur." Evie said kindly to the boy who couldn't have been more than five years older than her.

"Are you settling in well?" Holden asked. Nodding, she gestured for him to have a seat.

"Very…it's so odd coming from our modest little rented townhouse to this…palace." She replied, looking around. Holden chuckled.

"Destler certainly has expensive tastes." He conceded. A heavy sigh left her as she pondered the food. It looked good enough, roasted chicken in a creamy looking sauce with cranberry relish and fresh asparagus. Truthfully, it looked better than anything she'd eaten in a long time.

"What is your opinion of him, Monsieur Holden?" She asked, studying the boy. He had a sandy colored hair, not quite blonde, but not brown. His eyes were hazel, with a gold tone too them and he had long, dark eyelashes that fanned attractively over him. She thought him very good looking in a boyish way. Once he matured into his good looks, he would be an irresistible man.

"Me?" Holden asked. She nodded. "I…he's complicated. When I first met him, he did nothing but drink and he was foul to work for, but he paid so well I could hardly complain. I'm just an Irish boy who studied hard and is trying myself to become an architect. When I learned that Destler was a talented architect himself, I thought I might learn something from him."

"How is he now?" Evangeline asked, intrigued. Holden shrugged.

"At times, he is as foul and mean as before, but there are other times when he's different. Sometimes his exterior breaks and I get a glimpse of the_true_ Erik Destler."

"Erik…" Evie said, trying the name out on her lips. "Different, how?" She asked, shaking her head to get her thoughts together.

"Sometimes, his eyes grow softer and he seems human. Once, he asked me about love…it was so odd." His eyes widened. "As a matter of fact, it was that day that you…" He stopped at her blush and shrugged. "Well, it doesn't matter."

"He told Doctor Latimer that he was my fiancé." She admitted, tearing off a piece of the tender chicken and taking a bite. It was heavenly and she savored it for a moment before allowing herself to swallow it. Holden obviously didn't know what to say.

"Did that bother you?" He asked, looking at her in an odd way. She shook her head.

"No. That doctor told my mother just to give up on my sister. It's only been over a week. Monsieur Destler could have told the man I'm expecting his child and I would have agreed to get the idiot out of our house." Evie replied, shocking even herself. Holden said nothing again for a moment before seeming to decide something.

"I think he's in love with you." He blurted and Evangeline's head snapped toward him.

"What?" She asked, half-heartedly dropping the fork.

"I think he's in love with you Mademoiselle Lambourne and he either doesn't want to acknowledge it, or he's afraid to."

"I doubt that, Monsieur Holden." Evie said with a laugh. "He sleeps with married women, he's rich…he's cold. He doesn't fall in love."

"That's what he wants people to think. I know he was burned before with that Daae woman...I think he's scared of rejection. Especially because of the deformity." Holden said quietly.

"Well, I…" She began, but she had no idea what to say. _Would _she reject him? Certainly not because of his face…that had never been an issue to her when the rest of him was so…menacingly attractive. "Of course, I wouldn't _reject_ him…but love?" She sighed. "I didn't even love Lord LaSalle and we were engaged for months…I don't know what love is."

"Nor I, Mademoiselle Lambourne."

"Evangeline." She said softly. "Call me Evie."

"Evie then…" He said easily and she began to cry unexpectedly, thinking of Fern who was dying slowly, thinking of Erik Destler, who was unhappy and thinking of Giselle who was lonely and frightened. "Are you alright, Mademoiselle?" She nodded.

"I'm sorry, I'm just…my sister…everything…" She managed to stammer. He shook his head knowingly.

"It's alright." He said, rising. "I'll just leave you to eat your food."

"Monsieur Holden?" She said, and he turned back to face her. She smiled, wiping her eyes.

"Thank you for keeping me company." With a slight nod, he left the room.

* * *

Dag Holden was not a weak person. He had watched his father die of pox and his mother had eventually perished to influenza. Disease had played a large part of his life. So the sight of Mademoiselle Fern Lambourne in her sickbed did not shock him, but it made him ache for the girl, who would have been so very pretty if not for her pallor. Her dark hair was splayed over the pillow like a dark ribbon and the rash on her face made her blotchy and red. Her mother was seated beside the bed in prayer, but looked up when she noticed him.

"Madame Lambourne, my master bid me tell you that he has sent dinner to the parlor. Your other daughter is in there alone, quite distraught as well…I thought you might need a break." He said kindly. Her eyes shone with gratitude.

"I don't want to leave her." She said, looking down at the girl and brushing her hair back from her face.

"If you wish, I will sit near her." He offered. She stood gracefully and came to him.

"You will send for me if she needs me, won't you?" She asked.

"Of course." He replied and she wiped her eyes.

"Bless you and your master." She whispered, leaving the room. Dag sat in the chair where the mother had been sitting and folded his hands in his lap, watching the even breathing of Mademoiselle Lambourne. Every so often she would cough. After a bit, her eyes fluttered open and she looked at him, showing bright blue eyes that betrayed her sickness.

"Maman?" She whispered. He shook his head, moving to pull her covers over her better.

"She's gone to eat something with your sister. I'll ring for a maid to bring up some food if you're hungry." She shook her head.

"I'm dying." She said quietly and he could do nothing.

"Monsieur Destler is going to get you the best doctors." He assured her, unsure of how to react. "You need to eat." She nodded slightly, coughing as he moved to ring for food.

"What is your name?" She asked.

"Dag Holden." He replied, seeing that everything was sanitary and healthy.

"How old are you?" He knew she was lonely then and turned back to face her, ever patient.

"Twenty-six." He replied. "And you?"

"Sixteen." She answered. "Well, almost. My birthday is soon. This week, I think."

"Happy birthday." He said kindly.

"I'm Fern Lambourne…are you a friend of Monsieur Destler's?" She asked. Dag smiled at her.

"I'm his factotum." He said.

"Oh…" She said quietly. "Will you stay with me?" She asked. He nodded.

"I told your Mother that I would stay until she was done eating." He promised, sitting back beside the bed. After a long pause, he heard her sniff.

"Monsieur Holden?"

"I'm here, Fern." He said softly. She looked at him again, a single tear had escaped and was running down her blotched cheek.

"I don't want to die." She admitted. His heart began to ache in his chest and he could not stop himself for reaching for her small hand.

"No…you won't die." He said, unsure if he could make that promise. "I won't let you die."

"Do you think…" She began, trying to catch her breath. "That you could come in here and visit me sometimes? I love my Maman and sister, but you seem to actually want to see _me_ and not the illness."

"If you wish…" He allowed, fighting the ache. Something had just changed and he wasn't sure what it was, but it scared him.

* * *

"She's awake, Madame." Holden said, interrupting the slight conversation Evie had been holding with her mother. They had been making small talk, neither of them really paying attention to the other. Giselle left the room abruptly, intent on seeing Fern. Holden looked at Evie and she noticed a darkness in his eyes that hadn't been there before. "Monsieur Destler asked me to inquire if you would come into his office." With a nod she rose and followed him out of the room and up the stairs. He showed her in and she found Destler with his coat off, cravat untied and hanging around his neck, shirtsleeves rolled to the elbow. His hair was mussed. He looked up, noticing them and gestured for her to sit before dismissing Holden.

"I've sent word to every doctor in England and France specializing in the illness." He said, looking straight into her eyes and making her uncomfortable.

'I don't know how I'll ever thank you." She said seriously and he stared at her through heavy lidded eyes.

"I like to think of it as a bit of penance for my many sins. I owe this much to the world, though one life does not equal another. I genuinely want your sister to get well…for you and your family…" He said, surprising her further. She suddenly knew what Holden had meant by different and she began to wonder if his words had held any truth. Was Destler secretly in love with her? And more importantly…would she be able to deny him if he were?

"I don't know what to say." She said finally.

"Evie…I have made so many mistakes…I would be lying if I said I wasn't attracted to you. I must confess…I have been avoiding you." He admitted. "Now I need to explain why…the missing link. If not for your novel, for your knowledge." He sighed. "My mother was a horrible person. She sold me to Persian nomads to appease her lover…she blamed me for my father's death. She never loved me…When I met Christine, she seemed the perfect solution for the void in my life. I thought I needed her to love me, but it wasn't so...she loved me as a teacher…a father perhaps and I had thought I needed her to love me romantically." He looked down at Evie who remained placid. "Recently, my mother came to me to inform me she was dying of consumption. I did not forgive her for her sins to me…how could I?" He seemed to be asking himself more than her. "I realized it was my mother's love that was missing and not Christine's…I needed to have that closure with my mother…and I am a hypocrite. I know that. I did not forgive her for her her sins, yet mine were just as bad."

"What were you thinking?" She asked, "When you killed Ubaldo Piangi and Joseph Buquet?" He looked at her strangely, then.

"I wasn't." He countered. "I wasn't thinking at all. With Buquet, I felt he was a dirty, lecherous drunk so it didn't matter anyway...but it did. I mean, looking back he was a person still…it shouldn't have been up to me whether he lived or died."

"What about Piangi?" Her voice cut in gently, not wanting to upset him.

"He was in the way…pure and simple. When you are so obsessed with something, nothing can stand in your way and he was in the way. He was the easiest to kill though. Fat and disgusting…out of breath all the time. Not to mention he and his idiot lover Carlotta were the two most vile, self-centered people on this earth. Self-serving, indeed."

"Will you seek out your mother again?" She dared to ask. His eyes burned for a moment, his face cold as ice.

"I don't know." He said honestly. "I want to forgive her…but then I remember the things she did to me and I can't…"

"I understand." Evie heard herself reply. The way he stared at her, she believed he really knew she was sincere. He sort of stared at her with a new look in his eyes almost as if he were realizing something.

"Thank you." He said quietly, though he kept his voice level.

"What I don't understand," She said bravely, "Is what all of that has to do with your avoiding me." His emotions conflicted visibly on his face.

"I hardly understand it myself." He murmured. "But the truth is, that whenever I am around you, I feel my resolve crumbling and there's nothing I can do to stop it. Since the moment I met you, it's been a downward spiral." A sigh left him. "See I used people like Cressida to block out the cruel emotions…"

"Cressida?" Evie inquired, unsure of whom he was referring to.

"Lady Remy." He corrected and she remembered. The blonde who had stared daggers at her every time she'd been in her presence. Now she knew why. That woman had known even then that Erik Destler was infatuated. Evie almost laughed at the very thought of someone being infatuated with_her._ Her own fiancé had fallen in love with her sister!

"What are you saying?" She asked, becoming frustrated with her own reactions. He looked at her through heavy lidded eyes.

"I wish I knew." His voice was low. "All I know is…I'm so very tired of fighting it."

"So what," She said, rising, "Are we going to do from here?" The surprise in his silvery green eyes was evident as he contemplated her. Calmly, he poured himself a drink and offered her one, which she refused.

"I quite thought that I should know more about you." He said evenly. "After all, you've been prying into _my _life these past months, so I should get to know you." The arrogance had returned but not in the menacing way it had been in the past.

"Well, my name is Evangeline Lanie Lambourne…I'm the third daughter of Giselle and Remus…I'm nearly twenty-four years old." She winced at the thought. "I have four sisters, Cadence, Bethany, Bianca and Fern."

"Jesus…" He muttered, obviously loathing the thought of living with five women.

"My father was a patient man." She explained with a smile.

"He had to have been." Destler agreed. "Five girls…bloody hell." A laugh escaped her.

"My two older sisters are married, Cadence has three children and Bethany is expecting her first. As you know, my younger sister recently married Lord LaSalle." She explained. "I write novels…I wrote the book _Secrets of a Lady's Maid_…"

"You're G. Leroux?" He asked incredulously. She nodded.

"That book was quite controversial." He commented and her eyes widened.

"So you've read it?" She asked and he shook his head.

"I haven't had the chance yet, though I bought it when I heard about it and it's in my library now." He replied.

"I wrote it completely in the point of view of a maid to a Duchess. It described the Duchess's illicit affairs and her husband's dalliances as well along with their children." She said, a strange proud feeling welling in her chest.

"Is that so?" He asked, looking somewhat amused. "I'm sure it wasn't based on the rumors surrounding the Marchioness de la Rouche?" She blushed a bit before smiling secretively.

"Well, maybe slightly…" She allowed. A smile twitched at the corners of his well formed lips.

"Indeed…Mademoiselle Lambourne, do you want to know what I think?"

"As if I have a choice in the matter…" She responded sweetly, flirting even. His eyebrow quirked as he went on.

"I think you are just a bit wicked below that innocent surface…what do you think?" She gave him a clandestine smirk.

"One never knows…" She replied, appalled at her obvious flirtation while her sister suffered just down the hall.

"Well, I…" He began, but stopped seeming to lose his resolution. "Nothing…thank you Evangeline…I lost my train of thought."

"Then let me change your direction, Monsieur." She said, folding her arms as he looked at her expectantly. "How is it that you of all people, were attracted to Lady Remy, who is not exactly the bane of acceptance? I mean, it's no secret that she's about as deep as a puddle."

"I would tell you, but it may offend you…" He said, looking a bit irritated at the thought of his former lover.

"Try me." Evie offered.

"She was easy." He stated simply. "She knew the only thing I wanted was what was between her legs and she gave it willingly. There was never any other substance in our relationship." Evie felt a course of some unknown emotion rush through her which made her hands ball into fists, gripping the muslin of her day gown. Was it jealousy? On the one hand, Erik Destler was none other than the subject of her novel, an acquaintance and, as it turned out, a very generous person deep down. And on the other hand, she could not suppress her ever mounting adoration for the man. First, he'd stepped in when Pastor Mason had been terrorizing her, he'd taken the three Lambourne women in to help her youngest sister…all in all Evie had to conclude that Erik Destler was not so terrible after all, contradictory to what he had strived to have her believe. Good God, did Evangeline Lanie Lambourne have feelings for the hard hearted murderous rake? And more importantly, did he feel the same, or was she merely another of his conquests?

"Why did you break it off with her?" Evie said in a husky voice that didn't belong to her.

"Because she is a conniving bitch with an ulterior motive…she was after my money, and she threatened to…" He stopped, mortified, staring at Evangeline with wide eyes like a child who has been caught with his hands in the cookie jar.

"What makes you think she won't?" Evie asked, remembering the look Lady Remy had given her the night Destler had kissed her at Lady Saber's ball.

"Nothing…and that's why I can't…" He tried to explain, unable to find the words before his eyes turned dark. Resigned, he sighed. "Evangeline…it's why I never tried to convince you to leave Lord LaSalle…it's why I never pursued you. I 'd hate for someone as normal as you to be affected by the vicious jealousy of some high society slut."

"But you did want to pursue me." Evie said, astoundingly calm.

"I…" He began, sounding as if he wanted to protest but he clamped his mouth shut and nodded coldly. "Yes. I wanted to bed you." He grudgingly admitted.

"Then you do not know me." She said, irritated. "I would never lay with a man I was not married to…especially one who did not even love me."

"Then you are naïve." He said gruffly. "Love is a myth." Indignantly, she walked to the door, but made sure to meet his eyes one last time.

"When you truly convince yourself of that, remind me to congratulate you…" She said harshly, leaving him to his devices.

* * *

The following morning, Erik sat in his study, still disturbed by Evangeline's words and the sudden change in their flirtation. He almost felt sorry for the way it had turned out, but remembered it was better to keep aloof than to be a fool. He'd loved someone once, or he thought he had and God knew how that had turned out. He wasn't about to slip back into the illusion that someone could actually love him back for him. Even his mother who had tried to make amends before she died was surely insincere. Holden appeared in the doorway with the mail. He looked sallow and exhausted, Erik noticed with alarm.

"Holden," He addressed the boy. "Are you ill?"

"No sir…" He answered, but the dark circles beneath his eyes told Erik that the young man hadn't slept a wink.

"Perhaps you should take the remainder of the day off. I'll still pay you." He said with concern.

"No…that's alright sir." He said quietly. "I'm happy to work…I actually finished a design the other day if you'd like to have a look at it. It's nothing special, just a small house, but I'm rather happy with it."

"Send it in after lunch, I'll be happy to go over it with you." Erik replied, taking the mail and thumbing through it. Bills, feminine letters, one inevitably from Cressida as usual and then one with a seal he recognized instantly The Chagny seal. "Holden…I shall need some privacy if you please." The boy nodded and left abruptly, shutting the door. Ripping the correspondence open, Erik read it incredulously, the first three words written in lovely female scrawl would change his life forever.

_Monsieur Destler,_

_I forgive you. I do so hope you will take care of yourself and find it in your heart to someday forgive me…I am after all, very grateful for everything you have done for me. I pray for the day you and I could be friends. _

_All my love, _

_Christine de Chagny _

Tossing the letter aside, he rose and threw the door to his office open, heading toward the sickroom. Evangeline and her mother were sitting there silently while the young ill woman read her novel.

"Evangeline…that is…" He corrected, "Mademoiselle Lambourne…Would you do me a favor and accompany me on an errand?" Evie looked at him, her blue eyes obviously surprised, but the slight tilt of her chin told him she had agreed.

"Maman…if it is alright with you." She said. Madame Lambourne gave Erik an approving glance.

"Of course...but Evie dear…?" She asked as Evangeline dutifully looked at her mother. Erik looked skyward impatiently. _She's going to insist on a Chaperone…_He thought.

"Yes?"

"Wear your cloak…it looks like rain." The woman said as Evie kissed her cheek and nodded. Without a word, Evangeline followed Erik and he felt slightly ill.


	12. The Sanctity of Marriage

**So um...some stuff happens in this chapter and, as a whole, I am not quite happy with this chapter, but it usually happens that my readers like chapters that I don't, so...I hope you enjoy it. lol. **

* * *

"Where exactly are we going?" Evie asked, sitting beside Monsieur Destler in his carriage.

"Rouen." He said gruffly. She frowned.

"That's halfway to Le Havre." She said quietly and he nodded.

"We'll stay in a hotel." He replied and when she made a face of alarm, he sighed. "You shall sleep in the bed and I will use the floor."

"My mother will be worried." She said, unsure of how to feel at the moment. There was a feeling of anxiety in her stomach. The sky was growing blacker each moment, threatening to explode in its fury. Evie thought of Fern, who was at least awake now and prayed silently for her to get well.

"Holden will explain everything." Destler replied, and Evie thought she saw a slight smirk on his face, but opted not to say anything. As it began to rain, she felt herself falling asleep and began to dream.

_The smell of flowers was in the air and she was walking down the aisle of a lovely, small church. At the altar, her tall dark and handsome groom waited with his back to her. She felt her heart swell at the thought of becoming his wife. To her left she saw her mother and her sisters, but Fern was missing. Her mother looked weak and thin, but she was smiling. As she neared the altar, she felt herself wrenched away from the outstretched hand of her soon-to-be husband as a fat hand covered her mouth and began to pull her away. She screamed for someone to help her, but when she looked up, her mother hadn't noticed her there and another woman was at the altar. A blonde. She kissed the groom and began to laugh maniacally. Evie screamed, but no one seemed to hear her. She kicked against the hold of her captor and began to beg, to no avail. Finally, the groom looked her way and recognized her. _

"_Evie! Evie!"_

"Evie!" Evangeline's eyes flew open and she nearly jumped across the carriage as she was shaken away.

"Oh my God…oh my God…" She repeated, trying to breathe as thunder rolled outside the carriage.

"Are you alright?" Destler asked, looking down at her with moderate concern in his eyes.

"Just a nightmare…" She replied weakly, trying to regain her sanity. _A horrible nightmare…_

"We're nearly there…maybe an hour or so more. We're just passing Gaillon." He said calmly. She nodded, afraid to let herself fall back into a slumber.

"Why did you ask me to come with you?" She asked quietly. He did not look at her.

"Because you were right." He replied. "I need to face my mother and I am too much of a coward to do it alone."

"What if she's already gone?" Evie whispered. His jaw tightened and he swallowed hard, but he nodded.

"So much the better, I suppose." His eyes did not seem as sure though. "I need this closure…I thought I didn't but I was wrong."

"Oh my…was that the world changing its rotation?" She asked and he looked at her in confusion. "Did you just say you were wrong?" He grinned raffishly.

"Don't get used to it…it isn't often that I am wrong…"

"Or that you'll admit to it." She agreed. He did not answer this, just smirked. It was late afternoon before they arrived in Rouen as the rain had delayed them by about three quarters of an hour. They were greeted at the door by an older woman with kind eyes and brown hair streaked with gray. She said her name was Madame Perrault. Evie followed Destler inside uncomfortably and followed them into a sickroom in the one level home. A shriveled women lay in the bed, pale as death while she slept. Her skin had a yellowish, luminescent tone to it and the blue veins beneath were prominent. The woman who had opened the door went to the bed to wake her and Destler stopped cold beside Evie, his whole body wrought with tension. Instinctively, she took his hand and squeezed it supportively as she did for Bianca or Fern whenever they were upset.

"Madeleine…" The woman said easily. The sick woman's eyes fluttered as Destler moved forward. Evie stayed near the door, completely ill-at-ease. "He's here."

"Erik?" The woman rasped before falling into a fit of coughing. Madame Perrault mopped up the bit of blood before stepping aside so that he could see his mother.

"I'm here, Madeleine." He said quietly, not reaching out to her. His voice was still cold, but he was not able to mask his underlying pain.

"I hoped you would come." The old woman struggled to say. He nodded.

"I just want you to know…" He stopped, looking at Evie who nodded. Sighing, he looked down at the broken woman. "I forgive you." He said, and to her surprise, a tear fell from his eye and moved down his cheek.

"Erik…" She murmured, "Take it off for me…I need to see…" Understanding, he removed his mask without hesitation and stared at her unblinking. A slight nod from the dying woman came before she coughed another bit.

"You're perfect…son…so sorry…" She stammered. As if this had given her leave, her eyes rolled into her head and a last gasp left her before she went completely still.

"Madeleine?" Madame Perrault said softly. After a moment of urging, it became clear the woman was gone. Swiftly, the mask was replaced on his face and he was the pillar of calm again.

"I'll pay for the burial." He said, cutting into the horrid silence. Madame Perrault nodded and led them from the room, shutting the door behind her.

"She was waiting for you, Erik." Madame Perrault said. He did not react.

"We'll be along tomorrow for the funeral..." He said quietly and she nodded, moving to awkwardly kiss his cheek.

"You've grown into a fine man." The woman said. He embraced her quickly before taking Evie's arm.

"It was so nice to meet you." Evie said, unsure of what else to say. The hotel was more luxurious than Evie had expected. The carpeting was mauve and the room was decorated in shades of purple. Fresh flowers had been placed around the room and the desk was gleaming mahogany. The linens on the bed were crisp and pristine while the pillows were full. If she didn't know better, she would have to assume that this room was...

"Our honeymoon suite." The clerk said, apologetically. "It's our only suitable room available."

"It'll do." Destler said with a nod, tipping the man. Evie set about unpacking and pretending that she wasn't bothered at all. The most fantastic thing about this room, however was the marble bathtub to the side. Indoor plumbing was a lovely thing, indeed.

"Evie." He said, making her start violently. She turned to face him and his face was set. "I've been thinking." _Oh God, Oh God, Oh God…_

"Oh?" She attempted being nonchalant. "What about?"

"What it will take to get you in bed." He said casually, as he loosened his cravat.

"I…" She stopped. "What?"

"Evie…I have to have you or I'll go mad." He said, his voice still frighteningly calm.

"I won't sleep with a man I'm not married to." She vaguely heard herself reply.

"I thought you might say that." He replied confidently, reaching into his pocket and pulling out something that sparkled. "I've also been thinking," He went on, "That it may be time for me to marry…that is, if you'll have me." Mesmerized by the gleaming thing between his thumb and forefinger, she looked up at him.

"What?" She asked again, completely lost.

"Evangeline, I'm asking you to marry me." He said, his face still cold and emotionless. She looked at him incredulously for a moment.

"Why?"

"Because honestly, I need a woman to help run my house and you and I suit. We do…don't even deny it. I think we could live comfortably together. Besides…I would make you happy. You would lack for nothing…and you could write your novels without having to worry about money." She could only stare.

"What about love?" She asked. He looked alarmed, but shook his head.

"I can't…no." He said quietly. She sank to the bed to think about her options. A loveless marriage? Could she resign herself? But then again, who was she to be choosy? She was nearly twenty-four years old! Like it or not, it wasn't as if she truly wanted to live the rest of her life alone.

"It's so sudden…" She said, dazed.

"For me as well…I decided last night." He said quietly. She was somewhat uncomfortable by the way he was speaking about it as if it were some sort of business transaction. The answer became clear to her suddenly, however, and she knew what she had to do.

"Yes." She said, staring at him. "I'll marry you Monsieur Destler."

"For the love of God, call me Erik." He said in exasperation. "If we're going to be married, you can't very well use formalities."

"When do you want to…to do it?" She asked, suddenly realizing what marriage entailed.

"Soon. As soon as possible." He added.

"You've lost your mind…haven't you?" She was unable to make her voice louder than a murmur as her mind spun at the thought of everything that was happening.

"Actually Minx, for the first time I'm thinking clearly when it comes to my future." She watched him loosen his cravat and unbutton the first three of his shirt.

"And children?" She inquired, for it had always been her plan to have three or four children. His eyes grew large and haunted, but he swallowed and shrugged.

"I don't know…I've only just faced my worst demon…I'd rather not think about the second yet."

"The second, being?" Her fingers nimbly began to pluck at the pins in her hair, letting it fall wildly around her shoulders.

"This." He said, removing the mask. To her credit, she did not wince. In fact, if he hadn't have done it so deliberately, Evie probably wouldn't have noticed. She had always been the type of person who saw a person and nothing else. When Bianca had been ten and she fifteen, Bianca had let Bethany cut all of her hair off to just below her ears using Papa's scissors. It had taken Evie ten minutes to figure out why Bianca was crying. It was much the same with Erik.

"I'm nearly sure that it is not genetic, Erik." She said, feeling strange as she used the first name. In fact, this whole situation was odd in itself. Both of them were standing in this hotel room getting ready for bed as if they were already married. As if it were the most natural thing in the world. God even knew why she'd so readily agreed, but it was done and she wasn't taking it back now. She chose to ignore that she was twenty-four and might have said she'd marry a peddler if he asked her. With a sigh, she perched on the bed. A rush of sympathy went through her.

"Erik?"

"Mmm?" He asked, unbuttoning his cuffs.

"It's a plenty big bed…I'm sure we could share. I mean, we're already pushing propriety by rooming together." She said, hardly believing she was saying it.

"Evangeline Lambourne, I do believe I like you immensely." He said appreciatively. Shyly, she returned the smile. Unhooking her corset, she let it drop before she took off her stockings and crawled into bed in just her chemise and covering herself to the neck. With a look of amusement, Destler removed his shirt and climbed into the bed as well, turning the lamp down. For someone who was over a foot away from her, she could feel the heat radiating off his body and she was glad that he couldn't see her at that moment for she was sure she would be red as an apple.

* * *

Madeleine's funeral was surprisingly easy for Erik as he had already felt so emotionally detached from her, it was like watching a stranger being lowered into the ground. Not to mention, only three people not including the priest were present. Marie was genuinely upset on the one side and Evie looked unsure of what she should feel while he…well, he didn't know how he felt. It didn't matter anymore though, because that door had been closed. He'd given her forgiveness and in turn, had freed himself from the oppression of hating her forever.

He didn't know what had made him decide to ask Evie to marry him, but it definitely seemed the right direction to take. She was even tempered and intelligent and as his company grew, it would be imperative for appearances to have a proper wife. Not to mention, he thought wryly, she would be his for the taking in bed. After seeing Marie home, they headed back toward Paris. Evangeline slept nearly the entire way while Erik could not do anything but stare straight ahead and think. He thought of Christine…he thought of Antoinette…and he thought of the three people who had been killed by the chandelier. How he loathed remembering that horrid night when he had acted without regard for consequences.

When they returned late that night, Erik was pleased to learn that a doctor had responded and would be arriving within the following few days. Madame Lambourne acted a bit stern, but Erik could tell she was absolutely thrilled with the fact that her daughter was finally getting married. Which was another reason he'd asked her. Most spinsters did not get proposals at her age. After looking over Fern, Erik concluded that her coloring was better today. Holden reported to him that he and Madame Lambourne had taken turns sitting with her and trying to get her to drink tea.

Erik and Evangeline did not speak much in the next few days, but it was decided that they would marry that weekend and Erik, for one, couldn't have been more ready. He sent for a dressmaker to come to his district to make Evie a dress for the wedding. Holden made preparations to have Evangeline's things moved into Erik's chambers as well as a room of her own, in case they did not choose to share a bed sometimes. Yes, Erik thought sitting at his desk, this will work out just fine…Pulling out a piece of parchment, he wrote a letter to Antoinette.

* * *

She became engaged on Sunday and was married on Friday. It was a small, quick affair in the evening, with only two guests. Her mother and Monsieur Holden. Fern was too ill to get out of bed, but luckily the doctor from England had arrived and was attending to her.

"I take thee to my wife." Destler replied impassively, his eyes unreadable as they repeated their vows. She frowned, feeling a knot of apprehension coil in the pit of her stomach as he slid the thin, golden ring to sit with the engagement ring he'd given her earlier in the week. She repeated her own shakily, feeling as though she was watching this event happen from afar. When she had met Destler, she'd never imagined spending her life with him or even liking him for that matter. Yet, here they were, seconds from becoming man and wife and as the clergyman concluded, a swift and unemotional kiss was placed over her lips before he pulled away and made her take his arm. He paid the man, who left quite satisfied with a blessing and Evie sank to sit in a nearby chair while Giselle stood proudly beside her.

"This is good." She said softly. "Evie, this is the right thing…" Forcing a smile, she nodded.

"You're right…of course…I just wish…" She stopped, not wanting to think of the possibilities. It almost felt like he married her for convenience, which, as she realized it was Destler, she was quite _sure_ that had been the reason. He smiled at her, but she noted, when he did smile at her, his heart was not in it as Ansel's had been the day he and Bianca had married. Their emotions had been palpable that day.

"Perhaps I'll just look in on Fern." Evie said, not even wanting to contemplate the fact that in a very short time, she would be required to perform "wifely duties" in the bed of Erik Destler. Giselle had taken her for some lingerie in the Montparnasse district saying every wife should have lingerie. To her surprise, Monsieur Holden was already in there, pulling the shades closed so.

"Oh Evie!" Fern said as enthusiastically as a deathly ill girl could. "How was your wedding? Was it beautiful? Did he kiss you?" Affectionately, Evie smiled at Fern.

"Yes, it was…lovely and quite…to the point." She said meeting Holden's eyes with a smile. He gave her a slight nod, before seeing to Fern's pillow and leaving the room with a last grin in her sister's direction. The doctor was calmly moving to and fro, preparing things, examining. He was quite knowledgeable and Evie liked him instantly. He was quite young, only in his forties, but he knew what he was about and that made her feel relief.

"I want to see my sister, where is she…"

"She's right this way, my lady, I…"

Evie turned to see Bianca standing there in a fine silk gown with Ansel and Holden right behind her. Ignoring Evie, Bianca flew to the bed and wrapped her arms around Fern.

"Oh! Darling, we came home as soon as we heard!" She sobbed as Fern weakly patted her shoulders.

"Bianca…" She wheezed.

"Yes love?" Bianca asked, her voice muffled.

"You're suffocating me." Fern gasped. Pulling back, Bianca wiped her eyes and looked up at Evie.

"And you've married?" She asked, her lip still trembling.

"Not even half an hour ago." Evangeline admitted. "Hello Ansel." She added, nodding at her now brother-in-law. Bianca's taller form came to her and wrapped her in a tight embrace.

"I can't believe it." She said tearfully.

"Believe it…how was your honeymoon?" Evie asked, pulling away and holding Bianca at arms length.

"Divine…wasn't it Ansel? We went to Ireland and it was beautiful…" She looked at her husband adoringly. He had a similar look of infatuation on his face and nodded.

"We missed everyone though." He said, moving into the room and putting his arm around Bianca's waist.

"I want to hear_everything_, I…"

"Evangeline." She stopped, hearing her name and looked up to see Destler…her husband standing there.

"Yes?" She asked, swallowing.

"It's time." He said and she looked at her sister to stall. Bianca smiled supportively.

"Don't worry." She whispered. "We'll stay with Fern darling…Maman will come up too." Bianca moved to take a fresh handkerchief and tie it around her mouth and nose. The doctor had insisted on this, since he didn't want to take any chances on the illness being passed to others. Moving away from Ansel's kind gaze, Evie took Destler's extended hand and let him lead her to his room…_their _room.

"You may should make yourself comfortable, I'll return shortly." He said. She nodded robotically as she surveyed the room which had been prepared by the servants meticulously. Flowers adorned every surface, giving the room a heady perfume. Champagne was being chilled near the bed and pink rose petals were spread over the satin sheets and covers. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she folded her hands in her lap and tried to breathe normally, which was quite a task with the corset she was wearing. The maid had seemed to tie it extra tight today.

The door opened a few moments later and he stepped in with his cravat hanging around his neck. She instinctively drew her arms around herself, realizing how tall and foreboding he was.

"Relax Minx," He soothed evenly. "I'm not going to hurt you…I promise."

"I…Erik…" She began tentatively. "I probably won't be very good. I don't know all that much…other than the fundamentals and what my mother vaguely explained to me this morning." A low chuckle emerged from his throat.

"Stand up." He instructed, coming to her. When he reached her, his hands moved to her waist and turned her away from him. With a start, she realized he was unclasping all of the tiny buttons at the back of her simple wedding gown. She felt it loosening and when his fingertips brushed against the line of her back, she let out a breath that she'd been holding. A tiny whimper left her as she felt his hot breath on the back of her neck, where a few tendrils had begun to fall from their pins. "We're going to take this slow…" He said, pushing the silk down off her shoulders and exposing her corset and chemise. He moved the fabric down her body until it was pooled around her feet. She stepped out of it, wrapping her arms protectively over her chest. Guiding her with great care, he turned her to face him and she felt his gaze rake over her hungrily. A flush heated her cheeks.

"I hadn't realized you were so…full figured." He murmured.

"Yes well…there you have it." She replied with a nervous laugh. Nimbly, his long fingers reached forward and in moments, the restraining undergarment was released from her body, leaving her in nothing but a sheer chemise, her drawers and stockings.

"_Christ_." He muttered. Taking the initiative, she reached for the hemline and removed it, feeling the air of the room on her naked breasts. Again, she moved her arms to cover, but he stopped her. "No." He said, pulling her to him so that she could feel his warmth with her chest against his. "Kiss me." He ordered and she let him place his lips roughly against hers, barely allowing her small mewl of surprise to be heard. To her surprise, she felt her arms come up to wind around his neck and when his tongue entered her mouth like slick velvet, she gasped into his mouth. She felt him smile but something was bothering her. The feel of hard leather against her face denied her the intimacy she was beginning to crave.

"Erik…" She said, pulling away and shaking her head. "I can't…it's not…" A flicker of panic was in his eyes as she tried to regain enough of her senses to explain.

"What's wrong?" He asked, his voice hard.

"The mask…it's bothersome…I need you to remove it." She choked. For a moment, he seemed as if he were going to deny her, but when he saw that she wasn't going anywhere and in fact, had forgotten to modestly cover herself again. Obligingly, he removed the mask and set it carefully aside and for the first time since she'd known him, she saw the vulnerability. The fear of rejection.

"You know…you needn't worry about it." She said soothingly, suddenly becoming the one with the power. "I don't think you should ever hide anything from me. I am your…wife…after all."

"I'm not worried." He said, but his eyes told a different tale.

"Come here…" She said, holding her hand out to him. "Let me show you what it is to be accepted for who you are." Reluctantly, he took her hand and they sat together on the bed. Hesitantly, she pressed a kiss to his twisted and uneven cheek. His hand moved to rest on her hip and slowly moved up the ivory curve of her body and moved lightly over her breast.

"I want to devour you…" He said above a growl, as he took her lips again and this time the warmth of both his cheeks made her lust for him. The solid feel of his body even beneath his clothes made her clutch blindly at them, trying to remove them unsuccessfully.

"I…don't know what I want." Evie said uncertainly. He smiled slightly.

"Then lie down and let me show you." He said, standing as she moved to lie down. He took off his elegant, tailored jacket, letting it fall to the floor. Unbuttoning the shirt, little by little, more of his muscled chest and stomach became visible and Evie could see that he had once been very thin. Feeling a sudden burst of wonder, she sat up and moved to the edge of the bed, reaching for the clasp of his trousers. Surprised, he looked down at her and allowed her to open them herself. She even heard him chuckle at her eyes widening when she felt his arousal. Gently, his large hand clasped around her tiny wrist.

"Too much too fast…slow down." He said patiently, fully removing his pants. A small yelp came out of her as she caught sight of his male anatomy. It was the first time she'd ever seen anything like it other than in books and it was far superior in person.

"Erik…" She began, unsure of what to do.

"Lie down." He repeated, climbing onto the bed with her. She closed her eyes and moaned quietly as his lips touched her navel and his fingers curled around the top of her drawers. She felt them sliding off of her, leaving her completely naked before him but for her stockings. "Good Lord…" He said and she opened her eyes hesitantly.

"What's wrong?" She asked and he looked at her as if she were crazy.

"Wrong?" He asked incredulously. "What's _wrong_?" A laugh escaped him. "Look at you Evangeline! I'm glad no one knew how gorgeous you would be without any clothes on, because I would have to go to drastic measures to keep you covered from head to toe."

"Oh _really_…" She said modestly, rolling her eyes.

"Hush." He said with a smile on his face as he began to take off her stockings one by one. The feel of the soft material moving over her flesh caused unexpected sensations that began to creep up from her thighs to her breasts and back again. She felt the warmth of his body as he moved up beside her and drew in her face for a kiss. His lips played on hers, barely making contact as she struggled to be closer. A murmur of protest left her.

"Patience, wife." He said, never taking his face away from hers. Finally, he let his lips press firmly onto hers, his tongue darting forward to explore her mouth. Erik was a very clean kisser, not sloppy like the boy she'd shared her first kiss with had been. He was extremely skillful and knew exactly what to do in order to make her gasp. She clung to him as if for dear life while his hands moved down to the curve of her hip. Her eyes opened again as his lips left hers and moved to her neck. Sinking into the satiny pillows, she sighed and arched her back as he moved to her breast. Her eyes opened and her hands moved to cover herself.

"Erik! I…I don't think..."

"Evie?" He said looking up at her with hunger in his eyes.

What?"

"Be quiet and let me make love to you." His attention returned to the matter of pushing her arms off of her chest and running his tongue around the hardened tip of it before blowing lightly on it. A shriek left her, making him chuckle. "Is that a good thing?" He asked and she could only nod.

"D-don't stop…" She said and he grinned rakishly.

"I wouldn't dream of it." He said, repeated the same to the other. Easily, he ran his tongue down her body until he poised himself near the most intimate part of her anatomy covered by auburn curls.

"What are you doing?" She asked uncertainly and he said nothing, but there was a look in the silvery green of his eyes that was wicked. She felt him part her legs before his finger gently entered her and she cried out. "N-no…don't…don't do that…I…oh…" Her eyes closed again and her stomach tightened. "Keep doing that…that's…" She could say no more, because the silken feel of his tongue had joined his finger. He was taking her somewhere she had never been before, but suddenly she didn't care about anything else in the world as she panted and gasped and writhed in his arms. "Oh my! I can't…I have to…" She lost all concept of conversation as the sensation washed over her and relief came from the tension that had wrought in her body. A languid relaxation made her feel exhausted. "Are we done?" She whispered. A low chuckle left his throat.

"Not even close, Minx." He moved over her, opening her legs with his knees and, she realized _that_ part of him was positioned at her entrance. Remembering the size of him, the thought of that entering her frightened her. "This will hurt…but I will be gentle." He promised, inching forward. She could feel his arms shaking with need. His breath was coming in hard pants.

"Just do it…" She said, wanting relief for him. With a single thrust, he plunged forward, breaking her barrier. Tears came to her eyes as the pain came and her body tensed.

"Are you alright?" He asked, concerned.

"Just keep going, I'll be fine." She whispered, still clenching her eyes closed. He nodded and suddenly, he seemed much more innocent as well. His hand came between them and began to rub her sensitive spot gently as he moved inside her. A cry left her as she began to feel the coil of pleasure building while the pain faded. He began to groan as his head fell into the crook of her neck. She could feel his lips there as he made sounds of love. As her release came again, she felt his body tense.

"So much better…than I ever thought…" He ground out before collapsing on top of her as they tried to catch their breath. Evie stared at the ceiling as he moved to her side and rested his head on her shoulder, his eyes closed. She was now legally married to the Phantom of the opera. What a strange notion…she could think no more, however, as sleep claimed her.

* * *

_DESTLER TAKES A BRIDE_

_The elusive bachelor, Erik Destler of Destler Design, has taken a bride. He has been surprisingly tight lipped about this union in the week since he's been married, but we have learned that he and his wife are planning to honeymoon. We have also learned that his bride was Mademoiselle Evangeline Lambourne, who had previously been engaged to the Vicomte LaSalle. We extend our congratulations to the Destlers and wish them many happy years together. _

In a room, not so far from the Destler's home, Lady Remy let out a bloodcurdling scream and tore the society paper to shreds.


	13. Between Affection and Love

**Sorry about the wait. Between writer's block and School, I'm completely swamped.**

**Syd **

* * *

For someone that insisted love was not an option, Erik Destler was an extremely affectionate husband. In fact, Evie had spent more hours than not in bed with him and had come to know his body almost as well as her own. They had been married for precisely one week and things seemed to be getting better. Fern, who had been under the care of the English Doctor Kerrigan, had begun to get well when he'd surprisingly given her some kind of plant remedy which had taken the fever away. Slowly, her skin was beginning to clear and Evie could sleep at night again. They had all decided to celebrate Fern's birthday when she was recovered. In light of the good news, Erik had made arrangements for the two of them to honeymoon in Greece. He'd told her this very morning in fact and she was helping her maid to pack the silk and tulle gowns he'd insisted on buying for her since they'd married.

Everyday, when she woke up, she was bathed in an incredible marble bathtub with running water and scented oils before her hair was brushed and pinned into a gleaming pile of pristine curls. She doubted any viscountess or _queen_ for that matter was regarded with such care. The best part was, that her mother and sister were treated no different. Between Erik and Ansel, Giselle and Fern would be well taken care of until Fern decided to marry and it was understood that Giselle would live with the Destlers. Bianca and Ansel visited often, but retreated early, being newlyweds themselves. Evie stared at her reflection in the full length mirror, wearing a gown of mint green that set off the red in her hair brilliantly. She hardly recognized herself, but she'd never felt happier. Not to mention, in the past week, a bolt of inspiration had come over her and she'd finished _three_ chapters of her novel!

She began to hum lightly to herself as her maid, Bette, turned to her.

"Will there be anything else, Madame?" She asked, closing the suitcase. Evie shook her head.

"No, thank you Bette. Why don't you go and rest a while? You've been working all day." She said kindly.

"Madame, may I ask a question?" Bette said curiously. Evie nodded politely.

"Anything dear."

"Is it true you wrote Secrets of a Lady's Maid?" She asked excitedly. Evie felt herself blush, but she nodded.

"I write under the guise of my Mother's name." She explained.

"That was the most wonderful story I've ever heard. Of course, I can't read all that well, so I had someone read it to me."

"I'm so glad…" Evie replied sincerely as the woman nodded and left the room. She became so immersed in painstakingly packing Erik's clothing, that she didn't hear the bedroom door open and she screamed when she felt arms come around her waist.

"Afraid of your husband already, love?" He asked, kissing the nape of her neck and sending a shiver down the length of her spine.

"No!" She gasped, bringing her hands to his and turning in his arms to kiss his lips. "You startled me is all."

"You were humming." He said flatly and she nodded.

"Yes…I'm afraid I'm not opera material though." She said apologetically. A rippling laugh left him.

"Bloody opera singers…most of them are ungrateful tarts." He said a note of disgust in his voice.

"Not Christine though." She said and he nodded, the smile leaving his face.

"Never Christine." He agreed and a surge of unexpected jealousy coursed through her. Did Erik still hold a torch for the singer? Did it even matter if he did? He'd already told her that he would never love her. "What could possibly be making you frown like that, my pet?" Erik asked, bringing her out of her thoughts and doubts. Shaking her head, she smiled.

"Nothing. Just thinking." She replied, returning her attention back to folding Erik's clothing. She felt his hand brush her shoulder.

"Is everything alright?" He asked and she nodded numbly.

"Oh yes…I'm just…everything's happened so fast…I'm your wife! I mean, I never would have thought…you of all people to ask someone like me..."

"Someone like you?" He sounded confused. She bit her lip, looking him in the eyes.

"You know, on the shelf. A spinster." She sounded an idiot and she knew it. Without hesitation he answered.

"I like to think you were on the shelf waiting for me…strange as it seems. We fit, don't you think?" He asked confidently. Forcing a smile, she nodded. _But I want more than just affection…_She couldn't help thinking. "Well," He said, kissing her cheek. "I'll see you for dinner. Your sister and her husband are coming."

"Which one?" Evie asked. Erik rolled his eyes, obviously remembering she had three married sisters.

"The LaSalles." He said, leaving. Evie sank to the bed and sighed tiredly.

* * *

As Erik sat at the dinner table, he noticed the resemblances between the two sisters. There weren't so many, but their eyes were the same. Lady LaSalle, however, was more narrow featured with thinner lips and a longer nose. Still a pretty girl, but not as softly beautiful as Evangeline. And her hair wasn't the vibrant auburn that Evie's was. It was simply dark, nearly black if one were paying attention to detail. Bianca's skin was also porcelain, while Evie had freckles on her nose which made her seem a very young girl sometimes. It was endearing. Evie chatted easily with her sister, laughing and reminiscing about their childhood. It was truly strange to watch two people so at ease with each other while their mother smiled at them affectionately. He could not imagine having a mother like Giselle.

"And Papa was so mad…" Bianca gasped, out of breath from laughing, "That he sent us both to our rooms without dessert!" Evie giggled.

"But he was a soft heart, because later that night there was two pieces of pie sitting outside the door!" They both burst into another fit of laughter.

"And…you and I would sing that silly lullaby to Fern, remember? The one he taught us?"

"Ugh," Evie replied, wincing. "Don't remind me!"

"What?" Bianca asked, wide-eyed. "Papa always said I could sing like a bird."

"A crow, maybe." Evie muttered, taking a bite of her food. Bianca shot her a glare and looked at her husband, who smartly avoided his wife's gaze. Erik swallowed a chuckle, sipping his wine.

"And you were much better?" Bianca challenged. Evie shook her head.

"Of course not. Lambournes aren't _singers_. But I never claimed to be any good." She teased her sister. The younger girl just made a face.

"Oh hush…" She retorted with a pout. The viscount gave her a look of sympathy, but amusement twinkled in his eyes. Evie could not hold back a grin as well and Erik felt a surge of jealousy at the small connection, innocent as it was. He reprimanded himself mentally, knowing that the two had been engaged for months and had realized they weren't meant to be together, but there was that fact that they _had_ once been together and Lord LaSalle's lips _had_ touched his wife's and that made his blood boil. But he knew it was not an issue with her. She held no torch for Lord LaSalle and possibly never had. He still wasn't even sure if she felt anything but mild affection for him, nor was he prepared to face the small tingle of joy _he_himself felt when he saw her each morning.

Later that night, after Lord and Lady LaSalle had gone to their home and Evie had seen to her sister and mother, she came into the room with quite a happy look on her face.

"You look happy." He commented, loosening his cravat. She nodded, pulling pins from her hair and letting it fall maddeningly down her back.

"I am…Fern's rash is going away…Holden was still up with her, but Maman has gone off to bed."

"Holden certainly has been spending a lot of time with Fern." Erik mused. Evie laughed.

"I suppose he just feels sorry for her, being cooped up so long…but she's getting better! She really is!' Standing, Evie turned to look at him. "And it's all thanks to you." She said quietly, her gaze falling to her hands. "I could never thank you enough."

"You don't have to." He replied curtly. "You've helped me already with my household and all of my staff loves you dearly. Bette told me that you helped the servants clean the kitchen floor."

"I did." She admitted. "I hope you won't be upset with me."

"I've yet to refuse you anything, I would hardly stop now. If you like cleaning, then I won't stop you." He replied. She chuckled.

"It's guilt. I hate seeing people work so hard while I do nothing." Her voice wavered a bit. His eyes softened.

"Evangeline…" He said, "I assure you that I pay my servants quite well. Don't you think you've done enough in your life?"

"I don't want to be some worthless society wife, Erik." She said quickly. "I won't be Lady Remy." And then he knew what the problem was…she was jealous of Cressida.

"You could never be like Lady Remy…" He said, going to her and putting his hands on her shoulders. "You are twenty times the woman she is…and far more beautiful."

"Erik." She cut in quietly, avoiding his eyes. "Please don't lie to make me feel better."

"I would never lie…not about this." He assured her, curving his fingers around her chin and making her look at him. "Listen to me Evangeline Destler…you _are_ lovely…if you had grown up in Paris, you would have been one of the most sought after brides…"

"Except for the small lack of dowry." She replied dryly. Snorting, he waved his hand.

"Please." He said. "A man would rather find a woman that he'd enjoy in bed than something as stupid as money."

"You only say that because you're rich." She teased. A chuckle left him.

"I wasn't always Evie, my pet. I grew up with Persian gypsies…_filthy_ Persian gypsies." He replied, reaching around her and beginning to unbutton her dress. A pleasant blush came to her cheeks as she modestly looked down, placing her hands on the front of his shirt. The warmth from her hands seeped through the cotton as he leaned down to steal a kiss from her. The material of her gown easily came away from her shoulders and he pushed it off of her. A blush still came to her cheeks as she moved her arms to cover herself. He stopped her. "Don't." He said. "There's no reason to hide from me."

"I'm still getting used to being without clothes on." She admitted reluctantly. He chuckled and began to remove his own clothing as she finished pulling off her undergarments and crawled into the satin sheets of her bed. For the next hour, she performed her wifely duties with pleasure and to Erik's surprise, they talked into the night while lying in each other's arms.

"I think Bethany is going to have a girl." Evie said, running her fingertip lazily along the line of his jaw. She would not permit him to make love to her with his mask on and truthfully, the leather became uncomfortable after while and it was nice to pretend he didn't need it. She didn't seem to mind and in fact, seemed a bit fascinated with the right side of his face.

"What makes you think she's having a girl?" He replied sleepily with his eyes closed as he caught her hand and brought it to his chest.

"Well, do you notice the lack of brothers I have?" Evie joked, making him chuckle.

"Yes, there is that…" He agreed.

"I don't care what my children are, as long as they're happy and healthy."

"Mmm." He replied, unhearing, before his eyes shot open as her words sunk in. "I…what?" He asked, sitting up and drawing away from her.

"Well…our children really." She replied. "I mean, you will give me children, won't you?" She asked, her hair falling over her shoulders and covering her as she sat up.

"Do you really think children are a good idea?" He asked, trying to breathe.

"Of course!" She shot back indignantly. "Erik, I made it perfectly clear…"

"What if they end up like this?" He growled at her, making her wince.

"So what?" Evie asked, narrowing her eyes. "Wouldn't you love them just the same?"

"Well, I…I don't…"

"Are you so shallow, Erik, that you couldn't bring yourself to love a child with the same problem as you? Don't you think your child's life would be different?" She was challenging him and he didn't like it in the least.

"Well, yes, but…"

"But what?" She interjected. "I am not your mother, Erik! And for you information, I know how babies are made! In less than a year we could have a child on the way already!" The room became blurry then as he tried to focus his eyesight. She was right. It had already been a week of steady lovemaking and it wasn't as if he had been careful. His seed had been spilled into her too many times to count now, and she very well could be harboring his baby in her belly. He was so consumed with his thoughts that he hadn't noticed her get out of bed and draw on her dressing gown before leaving the room.

* * *

Evie stormed into the library, intent on reading a book until she was so tired she couldn't think. While looking for a novel, something sparkled in the dim light from the fire and caught her attention. Turning, she noticed a clear bottle with clear liquid in it, gleaming on an end table. It was obviously a drink of some sort. The interesting thing about it was that there was a full grown pear inside the bottle. Tentatively she removed it from its stand and uncorked it. Carefully, she tipped the bottle and let a bit of the liquid glide into her mouth. It was sweet and warm as it went down her throat. She carried it as she walked through the book shelves.

She had known he was going to react unfavorably to children and yet, she had hoped he would prove her wrong. She so longed for children and being the third eldest, she did not want Bianca to give birth to a child before she did. Especially since Bianca five years younger than she was. Ruefully, for a moment, Evie sincerely hoped she had conceived in the past week, but thought better of it as she chose a book and sat with the brandy clutched in one of her hands. She did not wish to bring a child into this world unless both parents were agreeable to his or her existence. Taking another swig of the pear brandy, Evangeline stared blankly ahead lost in thought.

_The house was bustling with noise. The sounds of laughter and running children filled the air. Evie sat with her family, smiling and watching the little ones crawl on the floor. A small dark haired girl ran into her arms kissing her cheeks. Evie pulled her onto her lap, tickling her. _

"_Stop! Stop!" The little girl squealed, wretching with high pitched giggles. Giselle watched the two of them with a look of pride on her face. _

"_Grandmere!" The girl cried, grinning at her mother. _

"_Behave Rose, or I shall tell your mother what I caught you doing…" Giselle warned affectionately. Evie smiled and looked suspiciously at the little imp._

"_What were you doing that Grandmere caught you at?" She asked, mocking suspicion. The little girl turned red. _

"_Nothing…" She replied innocently, snuggling into the crook of Evie's neck. Evie took in the childlike scent of her and sighed wistfully. "Auntie Evie?" _

"_Yes my love?" Evie replied. _

"_How come you don't have any children? Don't you like children?" _

_Evie's throat tightened and she couldn't speak. _

"_Evangeline? Are you alright? Evie?" Someone was worried. Her stomach felt as if it were going to turn itself inside out. "Evie?" _

Evie's eyes opened as she noticed the silvery green ones looking into hers. A small groan left her.

"Christ Evangeline, you've drunk my entire bottle of pear brandy!" Erik said. His voice sounded like she was hearing him through a wall.

"I like pears…" She said, feeling dizzy as he pulled her to her feet. When she swooned, he steadied her easily. "My stomach…it feels…"

"Easy now…" He said calmly. The room began to spin faster as she fell to the floor and the contents of her stomach spilled onto the marble floor.

"No children…Rose…Maman…I…" She babbled. As he sighed, she felt herself lifted off the floor before everything went black.

* * *

Bianca, Viscountess LaSalle embraced her older sister one last time before pulling back.

"Do write to us dear." She implored. Evie nodded, pulling Fern, who was on her feet for the first time in weeks into their embrace as well.

"I will…I'll be home in a month though…I hardly think you'll need me to write you." Evie's eyes looked as if the sun were shining through them since she wore the exact color to match them. The vibrant auburn of her hair tried to escape the confines of her blue bonnet. She was a bit pale and looked exhausted, Bianca noticed.

"Evie…" She said, reaching out for her sister's arm. "Are you ill?"

"I…" Evangeline glanced at her husband, who was in a deep discussion with Ansel. "I'm not feeling quite well this morning." She admitted. "I…" She stopped, pausing to look both ways before whispering. "I drank Erik's entire bottle of pear brandy last night." Bianca cringed.

"Oh Evie…" She said, wincing. Evie shrugged with a tired smile.

"You were drunk?" Fern interjected as both of the older sisters gave her a look. She shrugged mischievously before moving away to join Giselle and Monsieur Holden. Bianca noticed the smile Holden gave her as he guided her to a chair. Fern, however was oblivious.

"We had an argument." Evie's voice cut into Bianca's thoughts. The look in her eyes told Bianca it was more than just a little quarrel.

"What about?" She whispered, worried for her older sister.

"Nothing important." Evie blatantly lied. Bianca was not one to pry, however. She watched the newlyweds get into the carriage, Evie waving one last time as Bianca felt Ansel's arm come around her waist.

"Everything alright, Bianca?" He asked. She nodded.

"Just thinking." The carriage became smaller as it disappeared through the gates of Destler's estate.

* * *

_Destler and his bride have left Paris to Honeymoon, though no one seems to know where they've gone. Erik Destler married the novelist Evangeline Lambourne [now Destler just last week. _

"I hope you're very happy with your little writer, you fucking hypocrite!" Cressida Remy screamed at her society paper.

"My lady." She looked up to see her manservant, Jennings. "You have a visitor."

"Oh?" She replied. "Tell them I am not receiving guests today."

"You'll want to take this, Lady Remy…he knows Evangeline Lambourne." Jennings replied, a glint in his eyes.

"Very well…wait a minute, then send him in." Jennings nodded and left the room. Reviewing her appearance in the mirror, she poured herself a drink and lounged across the chaise in her parlor. A moment later, an older, stout man walked in.

"My lady…" He beseeched her, bowing deeply.

"Who are you?" She asked coldly. He smiled, revealing a row of white, but crooked teeth, making it seem like there were too many teeth in his mouth. He seemed a Cheshire cat to her.

"Oh…I am…was…a man of God…I have some information you might like to know about." He said, helping himself to a seat in a plush armchair.

"About Lambourne?" She asked, taking a long drink. He nodded.

"Until recently, I had been bedding her mother in return for paying their bills and the ungrateful little imbeciles run off to Paris with no thanks."

"You poor dear." Cressida replied dryly, uncaring.

"I met the husband on New Years night…I tried to persuade the girl to see reason, but she refused me and that's when _he_ appeared."

"_He?_" She asked, gaining a bit of interest.

"Destler. That husband of hers." Cressida choked.

"He was there on _New Years?_ He told me that he was meeting with some business associates…so he was! Behind my back…" The anger had begun to seep through her body.

"Yes, my lady…I too was shocked. When Destler left Le Havre…he told some people of the encounter and I lost my Parish. When I came to Paris, I was directed to you for information…" Cressida looked at the foul old man with renewed interest and adopted her most seductive expression. "Will you help me Lady Remy?"

"Oh…I think we can work something out." She said, situating herself on the arm of his chair.

* * *

"Maman!" Meg Giry cried as they entered their flat. Antoinette turned to see her daughter holding a paper. A society paper no doubt. Useless things…

"Throw that infernal trash away, Marguerite…"

"No Maman, _look!_" Meg cried, thrusting the paper into her mother's hands. Antoinette began to read.

_DESTLER TAKES A BRIDE_

_The elusive bachelor, Erik Destler of Destler Design, has taken a bride. He has been surprisingly tight lipped about this union in the week since he's been married, but we have learned that he and his wife are planning to honeymoon. We have also learned that his bride was Mademoiselle Evangeline Lambourne, who had previously been engaged to the Vicomte LaSalle. We extend our congratulations to the Destlers and wish them many happy years together. _

"Oh good Lord…" Annie sighed, sitting. "I must write Christine, though it seems silly since we've only just now returned from Hampshire."

"I shall go stretch for a bit." Meg declared, kissing her mother's cheek and disappearing into her room.


	14. Fern's Confession

"Evangeline, my pet, wake up and look out the window

"Evangeline, my pet, wake up and look out the window." Evie's eyes opened slowly to see her husband staring at her impatiently. The first rays of sunlight were streaming through the hotel window in Greece.

"Can't I just sleep a bit longer?" She asked, her voice muffled in the pillow. She heard him chuckle before she felt the silky feel of his bare chest against her naked back. The softness of his lips caressed the nape of her neck and she smiled.

"No." He said firmly, pulling away from her. "Get up." She groaned as she felt his weight leave the bed and slyly turned her head to see him pulling on his robe. She sat up, covering her bosom with the silky sheets and took her own dressing gown from him before joining him on the sun soaked balcony.

"Oh my…" Evie breathed, leaning against the railing. The room had a perfect view of the Mediterranean Sea and the smell of salt lingered pleasantly in the balmy air. This had not been evident when they'd arrived the night before as it had been well after midnight.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" He asked, resting his cheek on the top of her head and kissing her hair.

"It's like Heaven." She agreed.

"I never thought…" She heard him start, but he stopped himself. Concerned she turned to look at him, startled to find his eyes wet with unshed tears.

"What is it?" She asked kindly.

"I just…I lived so long in darkness…"

"It's overwhelming." She finished for him, nodding. Tenderly she patted his cheek. "You're free, Erik…and I think…" She began to blush furiously. "I think that you and I…we…I think we could be happy together." He did not conceal his surprise, but a smirk twisted his lips attractively.

"Didn't you used to hate me?" He asked.

"Never hate." She said with half a smile. "I could never…I tried, but I couldn't…"

"I wanted you the moment I saw you." He said, satisfied with himself. "You were wearing that green dress. Such a tiny woman with an impressive bosom." His finger drew across the gentle curve of one of her breasts through the silken material of the dressing gown. Unable to breathe for a moment, he noticed. "I think," He began, leaning down to caress her neck with his lips, "you and I ought to return to that bed." Her only response was a long sigh. With an evil grin, he lifted her and carried her slight body to the huge bed. Easily, her robe came apart under his able fingers. Arching upwards to his touch, Erik chuckled. "Be patient my darling. We have all the time in the world."

"Mademoiselle Lambourne…I brought you some sweet tea." Fern looked up from her book on the terrace to see Dag standing there with a tray.

"Dag, you really must stop this waiting on me." She said with a smile. The color had begun to come back into her face since her illness.

"Well, it's such a nice day, I…I thought perhaps you might like to…to share it with me." He said, nervously. A giggle left her as he set the tray down.

"I'd like that, Dag." She said, patting the seat beside her. He sat, his sandy hair falling into his face. The two of them fell silent. "It's so warm now." She finally murmured and he tensed as her head fell to rest on his shoulder.

"I…it's getting to be summer." He stammered, feeling like an idiot.

"Mmm." She agreed, as he noticed her eyes were closed. "This is nice."

"We shouldn't be so close, Mademoiselle Lambourne." He said uncomfortably, pained. She sat up, looking at him with her intense eyes.

"Why won't you call me Fern?" She asked quietly. His breath caught in his throat.

"You're a child…and I…I'm a servant…it's not proper." He replied lamely.

"I'm not a child! I'm sixteen years old." She said indignantly.

"You think that's old enough?" He asked with half an incredulous chuckle. Her eyes shot fire at him.

"All I know is," She began huskily, tears forming traitorously in her eyes, "I almost died…and I'm so afraid that I won't get married and have children…I want to live." His hands moved to cup her cheeks.

"You _will _live Fern! You're better! The doctor even said you were going to make a full recovery." He assured her.

"What if I don't?" She asked, a tear falling and making his insides clench.

"Fern…Mademoiselle Lambourne…no," He stopped himself, frustrated with his lack of control. "_Fern_. I swear to you that you will live a long and happy life. You're going to have many children and you'll marry someone that loves you. Someone _who _deserves you!"

"And what if I want you?" She asked suddenly, and he shot out of the seat.

"Mademoiselle, you mustn't joke like that. Girls like you don't marry…" He lost his breath. "I'm ten years older than you…you're sixteen. Fern, you don't know where I came from. I had to steal my dinner as a child." Now she had risen as well.

"That doesn't matter to me Dag! I'm so tired of people _telling _me I'm too young when I feel so old. I know you're life was hard, Dag, but why won't you let me take care of you?" She asked.

"This is…this is insane." He said, turning away from her. A small hand touched his arm.

"I think I love you, Dag." She whispered, and he had to close his eyes. "No." She corrected. "I _know_ I love you. I'm going to marry you, Dag Holden. You'll see." His heart hurt and he wanted nothing more than to turn to her and press his lips against hers.

"You're so innocent, Fern." He said with a sigh.

"I've lived long enough. I nearly died and I'm tired of waiting to start living." She said, sounding years older.

"I can't love you…" He said, still facing away. A small hint of hope came into her voice.

"But you do?" She asked expectantly.

"I…" He crumpled. "I _can't_…"

"But you _do._ You _must. _Because if you don't love me back, I simply don't know how I'll go on." She sniffled and he whirled to face her.

"Fern, don't…" He said, handing her his handkerchief. "Don't cry." Comfortingly, he gathered her close.

"I can't help it! I've been trying to tell myself I don't love you, but I do and I can't help it and I just want to be happy…" She sobbed, clutching the lapels of his jacket.

"I know…I know." He said softly, taking in the feel of her in his arms. She was barely sixteen, but she was older. Like him. A woman before her time.

"Dag…" She said, looking up, her eyes red rimmed. "Please…" She was begging him now. He did not make a sound, but something inside of him broke and he finally leaned forward, placing a chaste kiss on her lips. They simply pulled apart and stared at each other in wonder and fear.

"Erik, I've found another!" Evie said, her hair billowing around her in the warm breeze two weeks after they'd arrived in Greece. Triumphantly, she held up a large shell, her skin glowing from the time spent in the sun. To his surprise, he too was getting color. Something he had long been free of, living below the opera. Her bathing dress was just adorable and her eyes were bright with youth. He followed close behind her, stooping to inspect each discovery she made. They walked hand in hand along the shore of the Mediterranean until she spied something clear and dead looking.

"Oh my, Erik!" She pointed ahead, bringing his attention forward again. "What is that?" No sooner had she begun to inch toward it than he lurched forward to stop her.

"Evie no!" He barked, making her stop abruptly.

"Why not, Erik? It's just a…" She stopped then and a scream left her as she began to stumble over a rock. "Oh my!" Quick as a cat, Erik had swept her up before she could say another word. He carried her away and fell to sit on the sand with her in his lap.

"Let me see, my love." He said as she breathed heavily. Her leg was virtually clear. He breathed in relief.

"What was that?" She asked, wide eyed. He breathed against her.

"That, my sweet, was a sea jelly…their stings are extremely painful." He said as she clung to his shirt.

"Oh dear." She said, looking positively embarrassed.

"Come now." He said, pulling her easily to her feet. "Seeing you in this bathing dress makes me want to see you out of it." His voice was low and wicked and he felt her shiver. They returned to the room hastily, and he had already began unbuttoning her dress.

"Erik! You are insatiable!" She laughed, tugging at his shirt, which he pulled off easily and discarded.

"Only when it comes to you…" He growled, nipping at her ear. She gasped, pulling gently at his mask and placing it aside. He didn't even stop to wince for once as he was much too preoccupied with her dress which was gaping open, revealing her ample breasts. Bending down, he ran his tongue between them and pushed her onto the bed, fully removing the damp garment.

Smoothly, he removed his pants and entered her, all in one movement. She groaned loudly, clawing at his back as he thrust. A small voice entered his brain however, as her moans became louder and more frequent.

_Be careful…she could already be pregnant…_The unclear sound of an infant crying flooded Erik's mind as he continued to thrust. The unbidden picture of an infant with angry red scars on its otherwise cherubic face came into his head. He let out a cry of frustration until he finally felt her tightening and he withdrew from her and spilled his seed onto the sheet next to her. When he finished, he looked up to see her eyeing him.

"Erik, what are you doing?" She asked quietly.

"I…nothing. It's nothing." He said, standing up to go to the wash basin.

"No…something's wrong. You…you pulled out…you…"

"I don't know…I panicked." He said, running a hand through his hair.

"You panicked?" She went pale with realization. "Oh. I see…you didn't want…" A sigh left her. "We're still on this subject then? You don't want me to have your children."

"It's not that I don't _want _you to have my children…it's just that I don't want to father children." He said stupidly. She glared at him.

"Oh, well…that makes things better." She spat, rising naked from the bed and walking past him to turn on the bath.

"I don't want to talk about it." He growled.

"Nothing new in that." She muttered, pulling on her dressing gown.

"Fern? What are you doing?" Dag asked, coming into the parlor where Fern sat, reading a romance novel she'd stolen from Evie.

"I…nothing." She said, setting the book down in her lap and smiling at Dag's handsome face.

"I just finished the accounting for the night, and I thought I'd check in on you…but you weren't in your room." He said, sitting on the floor at her feet.

"I couldn't sleep…so I snuck in here and stole one of Evie's books." She showed him the cover and he couldn't suppress a smile.

"Trashy romance novel?" He asked with an eyebrow raised.

"I have to live out my fantasies vicariously through fiction." She said tartly, with a smirk. "I doubt I'll be kissing anyone in the summer rain any time soon." He didn't answer, he only looked at her.

"One day…we'll be married and I'll make every fantasy you ever had come true." He said seriously.

"Oh, so you're finally admitting that we're going to be together?" She teased, touching his face.

"Seeing you every day and not being able to touch you whenever I want is torture, Fern." He replied.

"Then why don't you do something about it, Dag?" She challenged, an excited knot forming in her stomach. To her utter surprise, he pulled from his inside pocket, a band of glistening gold adorned with four green stones which were arranged to look oddly like a fern.

"I bought this with some of the money I've saved." He said quietly. "It's a promise." He said sliding the ring onto her finger.

"I think we should elope." She said after a moment. Surprised, he looked at her.

"You Mother would kill me." He said.

"No she wouldn't. We'd still live here and you could still work for Erik if you want…Evie and I could raise our children here together!" She said, taking his hands.

"What about your mother? She's not likely to be happy that I've gone and corrupted her sixteen year old daughter."

"Maman wants me to be happy…"

"Let's take it slow, Fern." He said, kissing her forehead. "I don't want to rush into something so soon after you've been sick." Taking her hands, he looked into her eyes to appease her. "I promise. When you are better, as _soon_ as you are fully better, I will march straight to your mother and ask for your hand. Then I will make you the happiest woman in the world."

"Promise?" She asked innocently.

"Of course…but you _are_ getting well and we will have all the time in the world…"

"I just want to be with you Dag." He nuzzled against her nose, resting his forehead against her and forgetting who and where they were for a beautiful moment.


	15. The Honeymoon is Over

Sorry for the wait...

* * *

The honeymoon had gone sour quickly. Evie sat hugging her knees to her body as she finished writing a letter to Bianca. Erik had gone for a walk, and though they were leaving the very next day, the remainder of their time in Greece had become awkward and uncomfortable. He barely spoke to her and when he did, it was as if he were just a polite stranger. He even avoiding lovemaking now, and much to Evie's disappointment, he kept very much to his own side of the bed. It made her sick to her stomach, how quickly things had changed. How alone she felt now, and she was married. Somehow, she felt it was her fault the way things had turned. She should have waited to bring up the issue…and she understood wholeheartedly why he was hesitant, but she'd foolishly thought that she would show him that real love is unconditional. Evangeline Lambourne Destler certainly would not be the type of mother that Madeleine Destler had been to her only child.

Evie jumped as the door opened and Erik entered the room, giving her a nod before settling into an armchair.

"Shall we go for a walk this evening?" She asked lightly, trying to be cheerful. He looked up at her and sighed.

"Not tonight Evangeline. I think we should spend a quiet evening inside." He replied. Evangeline bit the inside of her cheek to keep her eyes from watering. Not only had he become just polite to her, but he had taken to calling her by her full name. No longer did he call her Evie with the small twinkle of mischief in his eyes. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she stood from the bed and pulled on a light cloak.

"You do what you want, Monsieur Destler, but _I_ am going for a walk." She said coldly. He stood then, moving to block her exit.

"Like Hell you are." He said firmly, his eyes bearing down on her.

"I'm _sick_ of sitting inside. You've been an absolute _pleasure_ to spend time with for the past weeks." She bit out at him, folding her arms under her breasts."

"You are _not _going anywhere alone, damn it!" He was angry. She knew by the way he violently ran a hand through his thick dark hair. "Don't you know what men do to women who walk about alone after twilight…"

"Oh Erik, please don't tell me you've only now begun to care about my welfare." She said, ducking under his arm and pulling the door open to her escape. To her surprise, he followed on her heels, stalking her like prey. She began to run then, sprinting out into the sand and the light of the setting sun.

"Evangeline!" He called and she noted the hint of desperation in his voice. "Stop! Please…" His footsteps stopped as she heard him say, "Don't you leave me too." She stopped quickly, turning to face him, unable to control the tears streaming down her face.

"Don't make this about you…you've ignored me for the past weeks we've spent on what should have been the best month of our lives! I'm your wife and I feel like I'm nothing…are you truly so angry with me or are you perhaps still in love with someone else?" She couldn't stop herself now, doubt pouring out of her. "I won't accept partial love…I think you need to resolve your past before you and I can have a future." She cried.

"Evie…" He whispered, and she tried not to notice that his eyes had welled up to. He stepped forward and took her hands. She felt a weight lift off of her shoulders as he finally called her by the pet name. "Evie, I think…"

"Say it again." She said with her eyes closed.

"Say what?" He asked.

"My name…" She looked at him. "You haven't called me Evie in weeks, Erik!"

"I've hurt you." He said, his face perfectly controlled again.

"Yes." She said, resolving not to deny it.

"I'm sorry." He said. Her head was pounding with pent up stress as her knees began to feel weak. The world began to spin. "Evie…my God, you're…you're white as a ghost…you…" Before he could finish, however, Evangeline Destler presently gave in to her stress and threw up all over her husband's shoes.

"Sorry…" She managed weakly. He gave her a sympathetic look and held her up.

"I think," He began, brushing her loose hair from her eyes and looking down at her with a tired smile. "I think it's time you and I went home."

"Yes. I think so too." She said, leaning into him and allowing him to guide her into the hotel.

* * *

"Evie!" Fern squealed as she saw her sister, who looked radiant. She hurried across the parlor and threw her arms about her older sister.

"Hello, my darling…" Evie said, looking tired, but content to see her. "How are you feeling?" Fern noticed Evie's eyes flit to the ring that lay on her right hand. Fern felt her face heat, but did not say anything to explain it.

"Better! The doctor is coming this afternoon to give me an update on my condition. But I feel wonderful!" She said, squeezing her sister's tiny hands. As Evie moved to hug their mother, Fern could not help but throw her arms around Erik.

"I've missed you both." She said, and he chuckled. "Was it lovely Erik?" She drew back, noting the amused look in his eyes.

"It was…an experience." He conceded. "I'm glad to see you on your feet."

Thank you." She said, moving away from them. Dag met her eyes for a moment before looking away, though the whisper of a smile lingered on his lovely lips, which she still hadn't kissed properly, but for the quick brush of lips he'd given her before. In fact, Fern had never kissed _anyone_…well, besides her sisters and parents. And he was so lovely with his short, clean cut dark hair and his bright blue eyes. It was when he smiled though, that her heart stopped. It was the light at the end of the bleak tunnel when she'd been lying on her deathbed. It was motivation for waking up the next day…to see him smile at her. It was _still_ her motivation for waking up every morning.

Evie linked her arm through Fern's, drawing her thoughts back to the present.

"Come, let's talk you and I…" She said, and Fern noticed her face was a bit drawn and there were dark circles under her eyes.

"Are you well, Evie?" She asked. Evie sighed, as they walked into her room.

"Oh, yes…" She said distractedly. "I'm just…tired."

"Have you and Erik had a fight?" She asked. Evie looked at her with surprise in her blue eyes.

"Sort of…" She agreed.

"What about?" Fern asked, her braid falling over her shoulder. Evie looked at her with that motherly sort of concern.

"Oh Fern…things you wouldn't understand right now…" She said, laying back on the bed. Hurt, Fern looked down at her.

"When are you and Bianca going to stop treating me like I'm a bloody child?" She asked quietly. "I'm smarter than you think, Evangeline." She said softly, leaving her sister to mope.

She nearly collided with Dag as she left the room.

"Oh!" She cried out in surprise.

"I'm sorry I've been so busy today…" He whispered, smiling.

"I've missed you." She replied, as they clasped hands in the shadowy hallway. "Dag, could I ask you a question?"

"Anything." He replied sincerely.

"Why haven't you kissed me?" She asked. He grinned, a devilish glint in his eyes.

"I thought you'd never ask…" He said with a laugh. "I actually want to keep you in suspense so you don't lose interest in case your Mother makes us wait until you're older."

"She wouldn't…oh my…" Fern said.

"_Slow_ Fern…" He reminded her, bringing her hand to his lips. "Now go on…before someone sees."

"Let them see." She said impishly, forcing herself away from them. "I don't care!" She couldn't suppress a smile though.

"Evie, I need to go into the city for a business meeting." Erik said hesitantly an hour later, disturbing Evie's nap. She sat up, distraught.

"Already? But it hasn't even been two hours since we've been home, Erik!" She said, tears welling up unwillingly, much to her chagrin.

"I won't be long. I'll be home for dinner." He assured her. "I'm worried for you though…" He said, eyeing her. "You need to rest…you've been so very weak after being so upset in Greece, dear."

"I know…I think I'll feel better once I eat." She replied. He nodded and kissed her forehead.

"You know what I think? I'm going to have Holden arrange for you and your mother and sister to have a luncheon on the back terrace. It is so very lovely outside and the air will do you good. I don't like seeing you look so sallow." He said. He left her then and she joined Fern and her mother on the terrace, reveling in the warm sun.

"Greece was lovely, but nothing compares to home." She mused and Giselle smiled, looking younger than she had in years.

"It's good to have you back darling." She said, and Evie smiled at her, but noticed Fern was completely and utterly uninvolved.

* * *

"Fern?" She asked gently. The girl turned, biting her lip.

"The doctor will be here soon…" She said, and Evie understood.

"It'll be fine." She assured the girl. But there was something else troubling Fern. Evangeline knew her too well. She could see by the way she was biting her lip that it was more than just getting better.

"Fern?" She asked, when their mother had excused herself to go and read until the doctor arrived.

"Mmm?" Fern asked vaguely.

"What is it? I know you've got a secret…" She said, trying not to sound too prying. Fern's eyes grew wide.

"I'm not ready to tell anyone." Fern said simply and Evie's mouth fell agape.

"Fern!" She whispered. "Tell me!"

"No. You'll just tell Maman…and then it will all be over!" Fern said, taking Evie's hand.

"I won't." Evie promised. "No matter what…not even Bianca." Fern seemed to debate with herself for a moment before looking around.

"Alright." She said softly. "But if you tell, I promise I'll never forgive you."

"I won't!" Evie assured, holding her hands tightly.

"I'm in love." Fern said. Evie's eyes opened in shock.

"What? How…? With who?"

"Monsieur Holden." Fern said quickly. "Dag…" She said, a tone of adoration in her voice. Evie sighed. A young girl's fancy to a sweet young man…nothing more. Unrequited no doubt.

"Oh Fern…" She said, feeling sorry for her sister. "And he doesn't love you back?" Fern frowned at her.

"Of course he does!" She cried indignantly. "We're going to be married!"

"What?!" Evie said, dropping Fern's hands. "He asked you?"

"No…well, yes…I…" Fern breathed deeply. "It's complicated. He thinks I'm too young…"

"And he's right!" Evangeline hissed.

"Look, if you're going to patronize me, I'm not telling you any more!" Fern said, her eyes fiery.

"Fine." Evie said. "Go on…"

"We made a promise to each other…when I'm fully better he's going to ask Maman…which is why it is so crucial that the doctor tell me I'm completely well again!"

Her passion moved Evie and she could see the love in her sister's eyes. But she was nothing but a child! How could she marry? And how could Holden…who was so smart and earnest…of course! That was why Fern loved him. They were so alike.

"Your secret is safe with me." Evie said finally and Fern threw her arms around Evie, holding her tightly.

"Oh Evie! I do love you!" She cried kissing Evie's cheek repeatedly. Evangeline couldn't hold back, she grinned and held her sister, who had somehow become a woman in a few short months.

"Mademoiselle Lambourne…Madame Destler…" Holden appeared then, looking stoic as ever.

"Yes Holden?" Evie asked, trying not to smile.

"The Doctor is here." He said, giving them a polite smile before leaving. Evie looked at Fern.

"Come on…I'll be with you the whole time." She assured.

* * *

"Your lungs are clear…you are healthy...the rash is gone entirely, and with a bit of rest, I would say, you have fully recovered and can return to a normal life. Within reason, of course." The doctor amended. "Don't go climbing mountains and you should be fine."

Fern began to cry in Evie's arms, for joy. Their mother thanked the doctor repeatedly. He simply nodded and shook her hand.

"She reminds me a bit of my little girl. Of course, my little girl is much younger than her, but she has that spark of life in her…" The doctor smiled at the sisters. "I will check on her again routinely as any physician would, but she is free to do as she pleases now." Giselle watched him leave and sat on the edge of the bed. Fern eyed her mother, her heart beating so hard against her ribs that she could hear it in her ears. Somewhere in this house, Dag sat, waiting to hear whether or not they could move forward and she wanted nothing more than to run from this room and leap into his arms. Evie chatted excitedly with their mother, though Fern noted she still looked pale and tired. Pulling away from her sister, she stood and met Evie's blue eyes. She gave a slight, knowing nod and Fern took the opportunity to slip from the room.

She found him in Erik's study, pouring over the ledger books, his spectacles pushed up into his hair, which was adorably wild. Gently, she cleared her throat and he looked up, jumping at the sight of her.

"Fern!" He cried, surprised and beginning to stutter. He closed the books and stood up, straightening himself out. She remained in the doorway, using all of her strength to remain calm.

"The doctor just left." She said, leaning against the doorframe.

"Oh?" He implored, leaning against the desk with his arms folded across his chest. She couldn't help noticing his fingernails were bitten down and his knuckles were white with how hard he was clutching his arms.

"Yes…" She went on, deciding to toy with him. A strand of her dark hair hung over her shoulder, and she began to twirl it.

"Well?" He asked, the slightest hint of impatience in his voice. She didn't smile, so as to not give anything away.

"Well…he checked me over and…" She trailed off again, and, much to her pleasure, he broke calm and sighed heavily.

"And?"

"There's the emotion I was waiting for," She said with a grin, moving forward. "I'm completely healthy…cured." His eyes widened slightly, hope coming into them.

"You're sure?" He asked, unfolding his arms. She stepped in front of him and took one of his hands, inspecting the nails.

"You really shouldn't bite your nails, Monsieur Holden, it's not good for you…" Her voice was gentle and teasing. "We shall have to break the habit when we are married." Before she could say anything else, he pulled her forward and crushed his lips to hers desperately.

"I love you…" He gasped desperately between kisses. She could only respond with small mewls of pleasure.

"What happened to taking things slow?" She asked with a wry grin against his lips.

"I've waited long enough." He growled, entwining his fingers in her hair. The two were so caught in their passion, they didn't hear Giselle enter the room, but when she cleared her throat, they pulled away frantically, each trying to fix their own disarray. Evie rushed in close behind her, an apologetic look on her face.

"What exactly is going on here?" Giselle asked, eyeing her youngest.

* * *

Dinner came and went and Erik did not return home. Evie began to pace in her bedroom, her silky dressing gown trailing behind her. Worry began to eat at her nerves, her stomach was balled up in knots. A sharp rapping at the door made her jump.

"Erik?" She called out, hating how childish her voice sounded.

"Madame, it's me." Holden's voice called out.

"What is it?" She asked through the door. He hesitated before answering. "Answer me, Dag!" She cried.

"Monsieur Destler was arrested tonight in Paris. They've sentenced him to hanging." Evie reeled away from the door, her blood pulsed loudly in her ears and her eyes rolled into the back of her head. She did not hear Monsieur Holden calling out to her.

* * *

"Madame Destler?" Dag called out unsteadily. "Madame?" Nothing. "_Evangeline?_" Worried, he used the master key to open the bedroom door and rushed to her side.

"Madame Lambourne!" He cried, gathering the girl in his arms and laying her slight body on the bed. "Fern!" Fern came first, rushing toward him in her cotton nightgown, her dark hair flying behind her.

"What's wrong?" She asked, screaming when she saw Evie. "Dag," She said, taking his hand. "What's happened?"

"Erik was arrested and sentenced to be hung."

"Oh Evie…" Fern said, burying her head in his chest.

"Let her sleep..." Dag said comfortingly. "Tomorrow is going to be horrible."


	16. Chaos

"Here, Monster." The officer thrust a tray of cold food into Erik's cell. He looked around, his eyes blurry and his head swimming. Feeling his cheek, he realized there was no longer a mask covering his face. The memories flooded back. He'd been set up by someone and the police were waiting for him outside his client's office. He'd tried to fight them off, but one of them had hit him with something and knocked him unconscious. The prison was dark, damp and full of rats. His clothes were torn and his left eye was swollen shut. All he could think about was Evie and how he'd failed her. They were going to kill him for his crimes and nothing anyone said or did was going to change that now. Evie would be a widow when she'd barely been married. He deserved this.

"Eh, Destler!" Another officer barked. "You've got a visitor!" Closing his eyes, he prayed it wasn't Evangeline. To his relief, he looked up to see the blue eyes of Antoinette Giry glaring down at him.

"I read the papers this morning." She said quietly. He shrugged, looking away and biting savagely into the cold, withered meat on his tray. "Gene and Richard are speaking with the chief now." She went on. "There may be hope, though they are still angry with you for making them pay you money, and for destroying the auditorium as well as blackmailing the entire company and the Vicomte de Chagny. Luckily there was an anonymous donation to the opera and they were able to repair the damage."

"Let them press charges." He said in a voice that sounded entirely too similar to the voice he had used to plead with Christine the night of the disaster.

"They cannot prove that you killed Piangi and Buquet, although we all know you did." She added. "Erik, how could you let it come to this?"

"Antoinette," He sighed, "If you are here to chastise me, please leave…I know my own sins thank you."

"May God have mercy on you, Erik." She said. "I will pray for you." She began to walk away and he called after her.

"Don't bother!" In rage, he threw the tray of food at the wall and lay on the cool stone floor waiting for his fate.

* * *

"My name is Evangeline Destler, and I am here to see my husband." Evie said, looking at the officer with swollen red eyes.

"_You_ married that beast?" The young man answered incredulously. Evie gripped Dag's arm.

"_Yes._" She hissed at him. "Where is he?"

"Cell five." The man nodded toward the cells and began chuckling with another man.

"Calm, Madame." Dag comforted. "He needs you calm." Evie nodded, but all calm left her as she approached the cell where Erik was crumpled in a corner. His face was all bruised and swollen, and he looked catatonic.

"Erik…" She croaked, gripping the bars with her gloved hands. He looked up and scrambled to his feet, coming to her and putting his hands over hers on the bars.

"Evangeline." He said, leaning his head forward against the metal.

"What's happening?" She asked tearfully, moving one of her hands to cup his exposed marred cheek.

"It's over Evie." He said softly. "I'm sorry…" He lost the words as the last bit was lost in a sob.

"You're not going to die. I won't let them kill you." She said. "You can't, not when I need you so very much."

"I need you to promise me something." He said, kissing her gloved knuckles.

"What is it?" She asked.

"I want you to promise me that you will remarry and be happy. Have children…since I couldn't give them to you." He struggled to get closer to her through the cell.

"Don't say that…"

"_Promise_." He ordered. Crying softly, she nodded.

"I promise." Erik noticed Dag and called him over.

"Everything you will need is in my safe. I trust you Dag. My will is there as well…"

Dag said nothing, only nodded in respect.

"And Dag?" Erik added. "I've left you a sum as well. Use it to buy a home for yourself and the girl you intend to marry when the occasion arises."

"Yes sir." Dag replied obediently.

"Now, go home both of you…I'm sure you will be informed when it's all over." He said. Evie made to protest.

"Erik, I can't…"

"Go." He said, calmly, pulling her forward to kiss her lips through the bars. "I shall wait for you always, Evangeline." Dag had to gently guide Evie out of the prison. She sobbed the entire way home.

* * *

Cressida laughed at her reflection in the window of a shop, admiring the shine of her golden hair before walking toward the prison to complete her plan.

"May I help you?" The young officer asked her eagerly, eyeing her. She beamed at him.

"Yes thank you…I'm here to see, Erik Destler." She smiled prettily. "He's an old friend of the family."

"Of course, Lady Remy…he's in the far cell. Number five."

"Thank you." She purred seductively to the young man and sauntered to the cell where Erik sat sullenly. A small pang of triumph rushed through her.

"Oh Erik…" She beckoned. His head snapped up toward her and a snarl came to his face. "So this is what you look like…" She clicked her tongue. "I'd still fuck you." A laugh left her.

"Go to hell, you whore." He spat.

"I have a proposition for you…" She said, ignoring his outburst. He didn't respond, so she went on anyway. "Come back to me, and I make sure you go free…" A bitter laugh left him.

"And what of my wife?"

"I'm not interested in marriage, Erik." She said. "Make me your mistress, and you can still see your wife."

"You're out of your fucking mind." He said, standing.

"No dear…I just know how to play my cards. Are you interested?" He walked slowly to the bars and looked down at her.

"Cressida…" He said softly, reaching through the bars and she knew she had won. He touched her golden crown of hair.

"Yes Erik, my love?" She asked. His hand brutally tore a strand of her hair out causing her to shriek in pain. He scowled into her face, thrusting the golden strands at her.

"I would rather spend eternity in Hell…" He turned from her then and she lost control of her manners.

"You fucking idiot!" She held the spot where he'd ripped her hair out. "Perhaps I'll just send the good pastor from LeHavre over to your home and he can have a reunion with your wife and her mother." He spun around again, his eyes blazing.

"It was _you_…" He whispered. She smirked at him. "I don't know how you two teamed up on this, but I swear this to you Cressida, you _bitch,_ if I ever get out of here…and you better hope they kill me _soon_, I will find you…and kill you!" He roared. "Now get the _fuck _out of my sight, or I will break through these bars!" Panic raced through her as she stumbled backward in the darkness, trying to get away.

"I'll kill her!" She screamed, unhinged. "I'll kill her whole family!"

* * *

Erik was unsure of how much time had passed since he'd been imprisoned. All he knew for sure was that it had been more than two days. Uncomfortable stubble covered his usual pristine face. Evie was beside herself with grief, though he had instructed Dag not to bring her back to the prison before his execution.

It was unbearable, waiting to die. He wished they would just do it. Death was never something he had feared, and at this point, wished he was dead anyway. The days were mercilessly slow and the food was worse. His mind was consumed with visions of Evie…on their wedding day, their wedding night…the day they met, when she had been wearing that ball gown that had accentuated every curve. Her rust colored hair set off by aquamarine blue eyes…

"Destler! Visitor!" The officer barked. He cringed at the thought of who it could be now.

"Don't want visitors…" He began, but stopped as the lady…or girl rather, stepped forward.

"Christine?" He asked, staring down at the girl who had changed so very much since the last time he'd seen her. She was heavier, not in an uncomplimentary way, but in the way of a woman. Her face had filled in and her eyes were as lovely as they had been before. She had grown up. Her hair was pulled up in a way that set off her swan like neck. She looked every inch the viscountess.

"Monsieur Destler." She said, inclining her head slightly.

"What are you doing here?" He asked her, staying back.

"Everything I can." She said sincerely. Raoul is speaking with the chief of police and the opera managers at this moment. "Aunt Annie came to me. We just got into town…visiting the Comte and Comtess."

"Oh?"

"Yes, it is Lotte's first visit home." Christine said quietly. He peered down at her in confusion.

"Lotte?"

"My daughter." The reply was simple, to the point, and shocking. "She was born in May."

"Congratulations." He said, trying to sound happy for her, but so lost in his misery, he couldn't.

"You'll meet her soon." She said, reaching for his hand. "I'm going to your home tonight to speak with your wife. She needs a friend I've been told."

"What do you mean?" He asked. Christine's eyes darkened, but she was honest.

"She's been ill…the doctor believes she made herself sick with grief, but her mother thinks there is more to it."

"Evie…" He sobbed, though no tears came forth.

"I'm going to take care of her." Christine promised. "I shall stay there, with your permission."

"You are always welcome in my home." Erik replied.

"Christine?" Christine turned at the sound of her husband's voice. Apologetically, she smiled at Erik warmly and for the first time in days, he felt hope.

"I must go now…but we're going to fix this. I promise." She said, squeezing his hand one last time, before turning and joining the Vicomte, her husband.

* * *

Evie couldn't eat. She could only stare into space.

"Madame?" Holden called gently. "A visitor, Vicomtess Christine de Chagny." Evie made a small gesture to indicate she had heard him. The elegant young woman entered the room, and Evie stood to greet her. The girl's eyes were kind and warm. Though she was younger than Evie, she stood much taller.

"Madame Destler." The Vicomtess said kindly, coming forward and drawing Evie into an embrace, much to her surprise. "We are going to fix this, dear." She said quietly. "My husband was able to deduce some information today. Lady Remy and an accomplice from LeHavre, a Pastor Mason turned Erik in."

Evie's eyes widened, rage spreading through her body.

"His former lover…" She said quietly. Christine nodded.

"Raoul and I have come here to watch over you…apparently she was trying to proposition your husband again and he refused, so she was raving about killing you."

"He can't die…" Evie said, laying her head on the girls shoulder.

"No…he survived Persia, he's going to survive this." Christine assured her.

* * *

Dag was once again balancing ledgers. He had barely seen Fern since Destler was imprisoned because he had been so busy trying to keep up his accounts. Dag was exhausted and miserable. After Madame Lambourne had caught them, he had mustered up the courage and blurted out that he wished to marry Fern. The woman's eyes had widened in surprise, but she did not reprimand him to his surprise. Unfortunately, the subject had been pushed to the side for the moment, as there was another crisis at hand.

He was checking over vouchers when he found a slip for 50,000 francs tucked in the drawer. In the memo, it read: _To be sent to Mssrs. Andre and Firmin of the Opera Populaire in the form of a Bank Slip. _It was dated over a year before. Dag gathered it up and started for the door in a rush.


	17. Annie the Puppetmaster

"Please, I must speak with Messiers Firmin and Andre!" Dag cried, as a rather unhelpful washwoman stared skeptically at him.

"Well they isn't 'ere." She rasped and he winced, trying to ignore the mole that was beginning to sprout hairs on her chin. She was a rather large creature, with hard black eyes and flat, dull colored hair.

"Do you know when they are expected back?" He asked, his voice cracking as it had in his pubescent years.

"Dunno." She scratched her head, a strong odor coming from under her arms as she did so. "We're preparin' fer a show t'night."

"May I help you?" A female voice asked, causing the unlikely pair to turn their heads. A proud looking woman wearing black stood with a cane. Her red hair was pulled back into a bun and her face was hard, but her blue eyes were kind.

"Er…yes. That is, I had been hoping to speak with the managers, but as they are not here…"

"Actually, they have just returned. Allow me to escort you to their offices." She said, turning to the washwoman. A permanent scowl seemed set on the woman's face. "Elsa, I will handle things from here."

"Good, because I isn't no messenger girl…" She slumped away muttering under her breath.

"Madame," Dag said to the woman walking with him, "I am Dag Holden…Erik Destler's factotum…"

"I know who you are." She replied tartly, walking ahead. "I am Madame Giry. Ballet mistress here."

"Ah, I…well, I've uncovered some evidence in Monsieur Destler's safe and I thought…" She opened the door to the managers' office without knocking. The two men looked up, startled.

"Messiers…this is Monsieur Holden, from Erik Destler's household. He has some things to show to you."

"Alright." Firmin said with a sigh. "I'm in no mood for games."

"This is a matter of life and death." Dag said grimly, setting the documents on a desk. "This," He said, holding up a slip, "is a bank slip written anonymously to you for the amount of 50,000 francs. I believe it paid for the repair of your opera house and replacement chandelier."

Monsieur Andre took the slip gingerly from Dag.

"I had wondered who had sent this…" He mused. Firmin was not deterred.

"It does not change what he did. People _died_!" Dag nodded solemnly and picked up another.

"To be sent to the Chennault family to pay for the funeral and burial of their son. As well as any other expenses." Setting it down, Dag held up yet another, reading it's contents. "To the Leverette family, for funeral and burial expenses as well as other necessary expenses…and finally," He said holding up the last one, "To the Ralston family…"

"He paid for their funerals…" Madame Giry said in surprise. "The three who were killed in the accident."

"It doesn't change that he killed Joseph Buquet and Ubaldo Piangi." Firmin said angrily.

"Can you prove that he was the killer?" Madame Giry asked, eyeing the man.

"Well, I…everyone knows…"

"Yes, but can you _prove_ it? Who's to say that Joseph didn't kill _himself_? The key word, gentlemen is _proof,_ and we have none. The majority of the people in the world don't even believe the Phantom really existed anyway. For all they knew it was part of the show! And do we really even know that _he_ caused the chandelier to fall?"

"Well, he must have…" Andre began weakly. Dag stared at the woman in awe.

"Yes, but do you know for _sure_? This is a man's life we're playing with here!" She insisted. "What if they were all coincidental? What if that man were framed? Or," She said with the confidence of a lawyer, "What if he were innocent?"

"That's not possible…" Firmin said, trying to process. "Ubaldo…"

"There was no sign of a struggle." Madame Giry said dryly. "Not a bruise…not a scar…not a bloody scratch."

"Then how did he die?" Andre asked, utterly lost.

"Monsieur Andre, he was extremely overweight. Perhaps his heart expired and Destler, being the composer, sought to save his show and thus, his reputation from utter ruin. _I've _always said that understudies were necessary. Perhaps, Destler _saw_ the chandelier falling and in a desperate attempt to save Christine Daae's life, pulled the lever to open the trap door at the bottom of the stage and escape. As you remember, they both would have been killed since the stage had been set on fire."

"What of the lair?" Firmin asked, irritated.

"He wasn't found there. It was most likely nothing more than a prop storage place…"

"Antoinette, there was a sodding _house_ down there!"

"And what had you found? No male clothes…no trace of anyone living there, except for some furniture and some paper and an old pipe organ. Prop storage." She nearly smirked. "Destler most likely had his own residence."

"That doesn't change the fact that he blackmailed us for money!"

"Were the notes signed with his name? No. _O.G._ It could have been _anyone_. And besides," She was on a roll, "did you ever actually _pay_ the Phantom money?"

"Well…no…"

"And yet, Destler so _generously_ donated money to pay for the damage that his opera gone wrong did to your opera house…as well as gave money to the people who perished. Now tell me gentlemen…does this sound like a cold hearted killer?"

"Actually…" Andre said, looking uncertainly at Firmin. "Her story sounds entirely plausible…" Madame Giry met Dag's eyes and nodded at him.

"Not to mention," She added, "Imagine how easy it is to vilify someone who is a social outcast. People with deformities are seen as unholy…unclean…"

"Alright! _Enough!_" Firmin said, running his hands through his salt and pepper hair. "I see your point. I cannot personally live with myself never knowing if the man I sent to death was an innocent victim…he's a newlywed…with all of this information…I can't…" He looked at Andre desperately. "And Liliana, my darling wife would never forgive me…" He stood taller. "No. I won't have it on my conscience. Antoinette is right. Chances are he's innocent. A killer would never have donated that money. Destler is innocent."

"Bugger." Andre said quietly.

"My sentiments exactly." Firmin replied. "We shall go to the police headquarters and inform them of these new developments."

* * *

"She won't stop heaving!" Fern cried miserable to the viscountess and her mother. The three of them staring warily toward the washroom, where Evangeline was still hunched over the toilet. "Nothing's even coming out. She's got herself so worked up that she's sick!"

"How would you feel Fern?" Giselle asked her youngest gently. "Her husband is due to die this afternoon."

"He won't die." The vicomtess said, inching toward the room. "Poor dear. I felt the exact same way when I…" She stopped, turning slowly toward Fern and her mother. "I think a doctor should see her."

"Do you think it is that serious?" Giselle whispered, gripping Fern to her.

"No…" The girl replied. "I don't. But wouldn't you rather be safe than sorry?"

"Yes." Giselle replied without hesitation. "Fern, could you have Monsieur Holden fetch a doctor?"

"But Maman, Dag…er…I mean Monsieur Holden left! He said he needed to meet with someone." The viscountess sighed.

"My messenger will go." She said, leaving the room. Fern pushed the door open to the washroom. Evie was lying on her back on the floor, her coppery hair splayed beneath her. Her face was so pale that the slight freckles on her nose stood out. Blankly, she stared at the ceiling. Fern sat down, pulling Evie's head into her lap and began to pet her hair away from her face.

"Evie…" She said soothingly.

"I'm dying Fern." Evie said quietly. "I'm dying of grief."

"Everything will be alright, just take things slow…" Fern wasn't sure what to say to her.

"I'm so sick…so very ill. I think I even caused myself to miss my courses. I can't remember the last time I bled."

"You haven't eaten…" Fern reassured. "Everything will be fine. The Vicomte will get Erik out of there…you'll see."

"And if he doesn't?" Evie sobbed.

"Then you'll still have me." Fern said, knowing it was a lame offer. Evie smiled weakly up at her.

"I love you Fern." She whispered, crying.

"You love him." Fern said.

"Yes." Evie said miserably. "I fell in love with the man I was determined to hate."

"Does he love you?" Fern asked.

"I don't know…" Evie said in horror. "He never told me…"

* * *

"Come on then Destler," An officer barked at him. "Time to go." Erik didn't struggle as he was hauled up and guided toward the gallows. He'd gone numb. His mind was pleasantly blank as he cringed in the bright afternoon light. He stepped up to the platform and was ready to step forward when he recognized someone. The light brown hair was shorter, but he was the same virtually as he had been over a year before. Raoul de Chagny stood talking to one of the police officers. Not far behind, he recognized the opera managers, Antoinette and Holden. A knot formed in his stomach and for the first time all day, he felt something. They had all huddled around the commanding officer. Erik watch in half amusement, half irritation as they all leaned in then discussed something heatedly. Antoinette glanced at Erik and he stared blankly back at her. He watched as the red-faced officer threw his arms up and turned away, stomping toward the gallows. He eyed Erik as he approached the officer holding his arm.

"Destler is free to go. We can't charge him." The man said.

"What do you mean?" The one holding his arm asked.

"He's innocent. Lady Remy set him up…apparently he pissed her off."

"I am still standing right here." Erik said dryly. The commanding officer released him from the shackles.

"Apologies, Monsieur." He said lamely.

"Hmmpf." Erik replied haughtily as Antoinette and Holden met him.

"You can thank me later." Annie said with a small smirk. "I've saved your life…again."

"She was brilliant! You should have seen her…and the Vicomte…and the managers…she was bloody brilliant! The vicomtess swore you were innocent…said that you'd been a dear friend of her father's…" Dag looked at Annie with a wide, youthful grin. "Brilliant."

"I thought you said you were done trying to bail me out." Erik said, still trying to process the information with the throbbing in his head.

"Just this once. You're on your own now." Annie smiled at him. "Go home to your wife."

"My…wife." He said, realizing. "I have a wife!"

"Your wit astounds me." Annie replied sardonically. "I need to get back. Dress rehearsals." She walked stoically away.

"The Vicomte is taking us back to the house." Holden informed him, looking slightly proud of himself.

"You've done well, Holden." He said, trying to maintain some dignity. "You are entitled to a handsome raise."

"Actually sir," Holden said meekly, "I just need help buying a small home. Could you sign for me?"

"Anything you need." Erik said with a nod. "Are you engaged?" Dag thought a moment.

"Unofficially…yes."

"To whom?" Erik asked.

"Fern Lambourne." Holden replied. Erik could only stare at him.

"My sister in law?" Holden nodded. An eyebrow raised. "Does Giselle know?"

"Yes. She caught us…that is, we were…"

"Good God, not _that_!" Erik said, horrified at the thought.

"No! Not _that_! We were kissing. Heavily." He amended. A moment passed before a chuckle began to rumble at the bottom of Erik's stomach until it worked his way up and he was shaking with mirth. The vicomte hesitantly approached them.

"If you'll just come this way, my carriage is waiting." Christine's husband began to walk away quickly, but Erik stopped him.

"Wait." He said. "I…I need to apologize for my…behavior."

"No…it's unnecessary…" Raoul began. Erik shook his head.

"It is completely necessary and I am truly sorry."

"It doesn't matter any more. Apology accepted." He said civilly. Erik thought that maybe some day the two of them could be friends. It was laughable.

"I must warn you sir, that Madame Evangeline is ill…very ill." The mood instantly darkened.

"Will she live?" He asked.

"Yes…I think so." Dag replied. "I think she was distraught over grief."

"Christine said she is beside herself. She really does love you." The vicomte added, as they climbed into the coach. Erik spent the remainder of the short ride home with his stomach in knots. He had no idea what he would say or do when he saw Evie, but visions of himself collapsing at her feet and weeping haunted him the entire way home. Christine was waiting for them in the parlor when she walked in. She made a quick gesture for quiet.

"She's finally gotten off to sleep." She said, leaning up to kiss her husband.

"Lotte?" He asked. Christine shook her head.

"No. Evie." She turned to Erik. "Good to have you back…" Taking his arm, she nodded at Raoul. "We should talk, Erik." Raoul and Holden walked off together.

"What is it?" He asked.

"I want to show you something." She replied, walking up the stairs with him. Leading him by the hand, she opened the door to one of the guest rooms. A young nanny sat in there, awaiting her beside the cradle. She nodded and stepped aside. Christine reached into the satin lined cradle and drew out a small person dressed in a pink satin dress. A thatch of golden hair sat on the child's head and when her eyes opened, it was obvious they would be the same color as her father's. However, that was the extent of their similarities. She would look like Christine with Raoul's coloring. He stared at her in awe.

"This," Christine said happily. "Is Little Lotte. My daughter."

"She's lovely." He agreed, tentatively reaching out to touch the baby's chubby leg.

"We think so." Christine smiled at him. "Hold her?" He reeled back.

"Oh, no…I couldn't…I'll hurt her." He said.

"No…here." She said. "You'll know what to do." Christine placed her into his arms before he could react and instinctively, he cradled her to his chest and supported her head. She stared up at him with her big blue angelic eyes. Lotte yawned, revealing her pristine pink gums. A small sound of contentment left the baby before her eyes closed.

"Christine…" He said wearily. Nodding, she gingerly took Lotte and set her back in the cradle.

"Come on then…I'll take you to your wife. The doctor was here." Christine said, closing the door behind them as they left.

"Is she going to live? Is she ill…?"

"She is going to be just fine." Christine assured him. Turning suddenly, she threw her arms around him and held tightly. "I'm so very glad you're safe." She said, her voice muffled in his filthy shirt.

"Thank you…" He said, watching her pull away. "I need to see my wife." Opening the door, he breathed again when he saw Evie asleep against the pillows.

"The doctor gave her some medicine to help her sleep. She was so distressed." She explained. "I'll leave you to her." She said, backing away.

"Thank you Christine." He replied tiredly, wanting nothing more than to bathe and crawl into bed with Evie and hold her forever.

"Always." Christine said with a wink. "Oh and just so you know," She went on mischievously, "the doctor said she's pregnant."

* * *

**I'm not sure that I am fully happy with that chapter...but oh well. Life goes on.**

* * *


	18. The Beginning of the End

Evie groaned, feeling as though there were a weight on her head. She tried to open her eyes and slowly, her blurry vision came into focus. Panic struck at her as she realized it was night. Erik was already dead and there was nothing to be done. Her husband was gone and she'd never even gotten to say goodbye. And then there was the matter of a child in the midst of it all…

"Oh God…" She groaned, trying to think. No tears came, only horrible silence. Sitting up, she wiped her face with her hands, rubbing her temples. Sighing, she looked at the empty spot on the bed beside her and then at the door. And then she screamed because there was a man sitting in the chair beside the bed with his head bowed in sleep. He jolted awake, springing out of the chair and she grabbed the closest thing to her, the iron candle holder. The man put his arms up in surrender, silhouetted by the firelight.

"I surrender! Easy girl…" The candle holder fell from her hand as she realized it was Erik. Squinting in the dimness, she tried to see him.

"_Erik_?"

"Oh," He shoved his hands into his pockets, "you were expecting someone else?"

"Yes! I…no!" She rubbed her eyes, looking once again to make sure she wasn't hallucinating. "What, are you _immortal_?" The shock of it all was keeping her flooding emotions at bay.

"No, I just have damn good friends." He said, moving forward so that she could see his face.

"I thought you were…they were…"

"They didn't." He answered quickly. "Antoinette and Christine rescued me."

"_How_?" She asked, thinking that she must look like a complete idiot to him.

"Another time." His reply was firm as he knelt beside the bed, looking up at her. "You want to know the worst part of it all?"

"What?" She asked, feeling her eyes burn with exhaustion and tears.

"It was the thought of never seeing you, holding you…touching you again. Evie," He ran a hand through his hair, "I don't know much about families…I never really had one. My father died before I was born and my mother, well…"

"I see." Evie said, looking at their clasped hands. Their wedding rings glittered in the firelight.

"You're my family Evie. And I know now that I'm a fool. But I am going to make it up to both of you if it takes me the rest of my life."

"Oh, Erik…having you back is enough—" She stopped. "I'm sorry, did you say _both_ of you?" A small, terrified smile came unbidden to his face.

"Can I show you something?" He asked. She nodded, unsure of what was happening. He helped her out of bed, supporting her weak body. As she had expected, her knees gave way the moment she stood and he gathered her up, carrying her instead to the door of the room directly across from theirs.

"Your music room?" She asked, raising an eyebrow. He made some sort of noise, but it was indecipherable. Easily, he adjusted and opened the door, stepping inside with her. He set her lightly to her feet, holding her around the waist. Bemused, she peered around the moonlit room.

"It's empty." Her voice nearly echoed in surprise. A smirk passed his lips.

"An astute observation Evie Destler." She looked up at him.

"Where are the instruments? The piles of crumpled paper?"

"Well we couldn't very well put a baby in here with all of that now, could we?" He said seriously. Her head turned very quickly to look up at him.

"You _know_?" Her voice actually cracked.

"Christine told me." He explained. "I've been grappling with this news for almost twelve hours now."

"And?" She asked, feeling slightly defensive.

"We're going to be parents." He said simply. "And things are going to have to change. My music room has been relocated to the guest room at the end of the hall."

"You're not upset?"

"Evie." He said, pausing. "I could have died today…I could have never seen this child," He touched her flat middle for a moment, "I might have never gotten to be a parent…and then this baby would be no better off than I had been. And if for some horrible reason that he or she is born like…like me…I could help them. I realized that they would never have to live through the things I did because you are a good person. You are not Madeleine."

"I tried to tell you that…" She said, swallowing the lump in her throat.

"I know you did." He replied, touching her cheek. "I just wasn't listening."

"Oh, Erik!" She cried, burying her face into his chest and sobbing. Her hands clutched the back of his shirt. His arms came up around her soothingly and they swayed there together for a long while. "I never told you I loved you." She said finally, sniffing and looking up again. "And you know, I don't mind if I'm the first…or the only one of us to ever say it. I love you." He sighed deeply.

"Well you're not." Evie stared at him in utter confusion.

"What?" She asked.

"You aren't the first. I said it while you were sleeping. When I first saw you…" He smiled with the same arrogance he'd possessed when they met. "I love _you_, Evangeline. I've loved you for a long time now."

"I tried not to love you." She replied.

"I know." He said. "I did the same thing with you. I was so afraid of being hurt…but loving you hasn't been painful like it had been with Christine, bless her."

"Yes, bless her." Evie agreed.

"I'm going to kiss you now." He said leaning down and pressing his lips firmly, but gently against hers. Neither of them noticed when Christine walked by and caught a glimpse of them, smiling to herself.

* * *

"She's awake." Christine said to Raoul, who was waiting in the bed with the baby. He smiled at her brightly.

"And?"

"I think it's safe to say that they are going to be just fine." She replied, drawing off her dressing gown and crawling into bed. "I thought he was going to faint when he found out she was pregnant."

"Wouldn't that have been a sight." Raoul replied dryly, setting the baby in Christine's arms for a moment. "Lotte is growing too fast." He sighed. "We should stop feeding her…"

"Raoul de Chagny!" She said, smacking his arm playfully.

"I'm just saying…" Shaking her head, she rose and placed Lotte into her cradle before climbing under her bedcovers and kissing her husband. "You're incorrigible."

* * *

"I didn't expect you to still be awake." Fern said, stepping into the parlor where Dag sat, looking contentedly at a piece of paper.

"Can't sleep." He replied, holding it up to show her.

"What is it?" She asked, noticing it was a drawing of a house. He smiled, giving it to her.

"It's our house…" His eyes twinkled. "Destler is going to build it for us. That is, if your mother doesn't kill me."

"That's a bit extreme, Monsieur Holden, don't you think?" The two turned to see Giselle in the doorway, her hair pulled back into a long braid. "It's time to talk about this." Fern stared at her wide eyed.

"Now Maman…"

"Let me say my piece Fern." Giselle said. Fern nodded.

"I think you are very young…and if I had things my way, you would wait to get married at least a few years…"

"Maman…"

"Let her finish, Fern." Dag said, staring at the woman. Giselle's eyes softened.

"Thank you Holden. However," She went on, "you can't help who you fall in love with…and your circumstances have been very different. I understand…you nearly died. Fern…your other sisters don't know this, but when I met your father I was barely seventeen. He was twenty-eight. Eleven years older than I. My parents forbade me to marry him right away, but I couldn't wait. We ran away one night and eloped." Fern gasped aloud.

"Maman!"

"My parents told me I wasn't welcome back in their home. Remus and I moved to Le Havre into a house that his parents had built for us. One year later, Cadence was born and ten months after that it was Bethany." Giselle sighed. "What I am trying to say is I love you too much to hold a grudge against you for following your heart. As long as you're happy…so am I." Fern threw her arms around her mother.

"Oh thank you Maman…" She said gratefully. Giselle held her and stroked her dark hair.

"It's so hard to let go, because you are so like me." Giselle said sadly.

"But you're not _really_ letting me go. You'll always have me." Fern assured her.

"I know…" Giselle said, pulling away. "I know." Kissing her daughter's forehead, she nodded and Dag and left them alone. Fern went to him and took his hands.

"When can we move in?" She asked. Smiling down at her, he kissed her nose.

"When it's built. After a proper engagement. There's no more need to rush." He kissed her on the lips. "Don't argue Fern, my love." He laughed at her pout. "Aren't you excited about being an aunt?"

"Please." She said pouting with her arms crossed. "I am an aunt to four children already!" Dag chuckled.

"Yes, but with this one, you'll see him or her often…"

"Well…I do love children…" She conceded.

* * *

_**Christmas**_

Erik stared in disbelief at his crowded parlor. Five girls were gathered around the Christmas tree with their mother, while he stood with the husbands. All of them seemed to speak at once, over each other, at each other…it was madness.

"Frightening aren't they?" Reid asked, catching his oldest son. Ian, eyeing his wife and daughter, made a noise of agreement.

"They are like a little herd of…"

"Hens?" Erik offered.

"Exactly." Reid affirmed. "They all get together and cluck at each other."

"It's endearing." Ansel chimed in, staring at his wife. "They're all so alike."

"Are you sure you don't want to run, Holden m'boy?" Ian quipped, slapping the boy on the shoulder. Dag smiled.

"I think I can manage." He replied sheepishly. "I've still got three months of freedom." Evie turned from the group, grinning at the lot of them, her rust colored hair in a loose plait. Bianca helped her to her feet, her now round belly curving prettily under the empire waist dress. The two giggled and left the room, Erik knew no doubt that Evie had to use the toilet again. It was continuous…she claimed the baby was making her need to relieve herself every little while.

"I don't know though, Destler. Evie's got the unique hair of the bunch…and Fern could be her twin if her hair were red too."

"It's not really red." Erik said knowingly. "It's more of a chestnut, coppery color. Too dark to be red."

"Ah yes…he's one of us. He's obsessed with his wife too." Reid joked. Evie came back into the room and sidled up to Erik's side. Well…as best she could. Taking her aside, he yearned for when they could go to bed.

"How are you feeling, love?" He asked, nuzzling into her hair.

"You child is being feisty." She said with a laugh, placing his hand on her middle. He'd felt the child before, but every time it was more jarring that there was really a person in there. Not to mention, his worst nightmare was still that the child would come out looking like him.

"_Stop_ it Erik." She said, always knowing when his thoughts turned black. Reaching up, she touched his cheek. "Everything is going to be fine." He drew her to him, leaning down to smell the warm fragrance of her neck.

"Merry Christmas, Erik." She said cradled against his chest with their child between them. His hands held her stomach adoringly.

"I love you, Evangeline." He murmured against her skin.

"I know." She sighed, unable to stop smiling.

"Evie," He said gruffly, unable to wait any longer. "Make up an excuse for us to leave. I _need_ to go to bed. Now." Evie giggled.

"Oh, alright." She yawned widely. "Maman, I think I should go to bed. The bigger I get, the harder it is to stay awake." Giselle nodded at her.

"You should have gone to bed already, Evangeline. You're overexerting yourself." She said worriedly.

"I'll take her." Erik said, watching Evie pretend to slump against his shoulder from exhaustion. He had to hand it to her—she was a stellar liar.

They couldn't get into the bedroom fast enough before he had the door locked and her clothes half off. Being pregnant did have advantages, such as no corset. And the way the pregnancy had filled her out…she had curves _everywhere. _

When they had finished, they lay together on the covers of their bed, lazily tracing the planes of each other's bodies.

"Merry Christmas, sweetheart." He said smoothly. Her eyes were already closing, but she smiling blissfully.

"Merry Christmas." She said, and he promised himself that he would always remember the way her auburn hair fell over her shoulder in a shining cascade, covering her. He kissed her forehead and pulled her close, feeling their very active child between them. Gently, he placed his hand over her middle and he waited, feeling the baby's movements soften, though they did not stop. She was finally able to sleep.

"Merry Christmas to you too." He added, toward his child.


	19. A Very Expected Wedding Guest

Giselle watched with a slight melancholy as Cadence, Bethany and Bianca helped Fern dress for her wedding. Evangeline and her husband were helping poor Dag hold it together no doubt. He'd been a wreck for the past week, working on final preparations for their honeymoon to New York in the United States.

Fern looked ages beyond her sixteen years, with her dark hair cascading down her back. Small white flowers were placed throughout, giving her an ethereal look. A small, sad sigh left Giselle as she thought of Remus, who had not lived to see his three youngest girls get married, especially Evie, who had always shared a close bond with him. Fern had shared that same bond with Giselle.

"Don't you just wish sometimes you could freeze time and stare forever?" Evie asked, and Giselle blinked in surprise.

"I didn't hear you come in." She said, putting her arm around her daughter and kissing her temple.

"Really?" Evie laughed. "With all this weight, I would have thought you would have heard me thundering in a mile away."

"I did!" Bethany said, turning to look their way.

"Sod off Bethy." Evie said, grinning at her older sister. "You were much bigger when you gave birth to Amelia." Bethany stuck her tongue out, holding her seven month old daughter up.

"She has Papa's hair." Evie laughed at her niece's tiny giggle.

"_Your_ hair." Cadence reminded Evie while she put the finishing touches on Fern and turned her for inspection.

"Well?" Fern asked. "How do I look?"

"You look beautiful." Bianca said tearfully. Everyone made to move forward but Evie stopped, having a slight cramp in her back. They'd been happening since early this morning, but none had felt this way.

"Everything alright Evangeline?" Giselle asked. Evie nodded, straightening.

"I'm just so ready to be done." A small laugh escaped her. "I think Erik is ready for me to be done too."

"Yes, well the poor man doesn't know how demanding you are!" Bianca teased. Evie smiled, though she remained a bit alarmed. She'd had cramps for the better part of her pregnancy, but this one had been sharp and seemed to ride up and down her back.

"Girls." Giselle said firmly. "We'd better get downstairs before Fern is late to her own wedding." Only a few guests were there as Fern and Dag had wished. Outside of family, there were only the Girys and the Chagnys. Cadence and Bethany walked ahead, chattering loudly to each other with their infant daughters. Giselle and Fern walked out arm in arm and Bianca was close behind with her arm linked through Evie's. Halfway to the door, Evie doubled over with the sharp back pains again.

"Oh!" She cringed. Bianca eyed her.

"Evangeline!" She scolded, clicking her tongue. "You're going into labor aren't you?" Evie shook her head, not wanting to believe. This was Fern's day, not hers.

"No!" Another cramp. "Ah! _No!_"

"You _are!_" Bianca hissed. "We've got to tell someone, we…" She was silenced when Evie's hand clamped over her mouth.

"Hush up you!" She whispered. "I am _not_ in labor! I had to convince Erik just to let me come to this wedding!"

"You're doubled over in pain! What do you want to do, hold your legs together until you're ready?"

"I don't know!" Evie cried. "I don't _know_!" She paced. "I can't think…"

"Well I _can!_" Bianca said.

"Look, I haven't had another, so let's just go down to the wedding and if I have another, I will tell Erik." At her sister's skeptical glance, she said, "I promise."

"_Fine._ But Ansel would kill me if he knew…"

"Then you won't tell him." Evie said just as the door opened and Giselle looked in.

"Coming, girls?" They nodded, and Evie squeezed Bianca's hand until she gave a small nod to indicate she wouldn't say a word. Erik was waiting for them at the door to the ballroom. Evie felt the color leave her face. He looked positively solemn, searching her over.

"You look tired, Evie." He said, leaning to kiss her forehead. "Are you feeling well?"

"Oh, perfect." She lied, ignoring the shoot pains in her back. Bianca shook her head and joined her own husband, mouthing to her, _I'm watching you. _Evie waved her away. Erik supported her as he guided her to a seat.

"You should be in bed, resting." He said quietly.

"Nonsense." She patted his hand. "I've never felt better!" She swallowed a wince as the baby kicked her fiercely. He noticed. She knew he had. The man had spent half of his life observing people objectively. Still, he went to stand beside Dag, but she could feel his eyes on her. Luckily, the wedding had begun and Giselle was walking Fern down the aisle. Dag was standing stoically, his eyes on Fern. He looked petrified, but positively adorable. Evie only wished she could enjoy the moment. Vaguely, she could hear the priest ask Fern if she would take Dag for her husband, but before she could say 'I do,' Evie began to cringe. Horror filled her as she felt the inevitable gush of water falling from between her legs.

"Evie, love?" Giselle whispered, noticing her pale face bent in pain. Evie shook her head and waved her mother off.

"M'fine." She murmured, feeling a tear squeeze out of the corner of her eye. Looking up, she was relieved that Erik had not seen, but Dag had and was watching her curiously even as he said his vows.

"I take thee, Fern Lambourne…" He stopped. "Evie?" He inquired and Evie inwardly groan as she heard every head in the room turn to look at her. Erik was beside her before she could even respond. The pain had reached a new height.

"I-I…I'm sorry Fern…" She said helplessly, avoiding her husband's gaze. "I don't think I'll be able to stay for the rest of the wedding…" She finally let out a yelp of agony and allowed Erik and gather her up into his strong arms. Dag began to move toward them but Erik stopped him.

"Holden, get married! I'll send Marceau for the doctor." Evie whimpered against his chest. At Erik's command, Marceau instantly left his post and ran for the door to get one of the horses.

"Can we hurry this up Father?" Fern said impatiently. "I want to be there when my niece or nephew is born!" The priest stared at her in surprise but managed to stutter out a response. Evie felt herself being carried up the stairs as she tried to breathe.

"Evangeline, how long have you been in labor?" She tried to think.

"I've been having pains since this morning." She grudgingly admitted.

"And you didn't _tell_ me?" He asked, sounding more hurt than angry as they reached their room.

"I didn't want to worry you…" She said weakly as he sat her down and began to remove her day gown first and then her under things and stockings.

"Fat lot of good that did you idiotic creature…" He muttered as she felt another and cried out.

"Damn it…I can't take this…" He said in such melodramatic fashion that she had to laugh. "_Never_ again." His eyes blazed golden.

"We'll see how you feel after the baby is here." She said with a slight smirk. Giselle burst into the room, followed by Fern and Bianca. Dag and Ansel stayed outside.

"That was the fastest wedding I ever attended!" Bianca cried breathlessly, giggling. Erik looked paler than usual standing near the window with his hands on his temples.

"Anything yet?" Fern asked, peeking under the covers. Evie crossed her legs shooing her away.

"_No!_" She said. "And please refrain from looking at my…my…"

"Naughty parts?" Fern snickered.

"Yes! And I think that…you should…" Another shriek left her. Erik's feet barely touched the ground as he flew across the room to sit beside her.

"Are you planning on staying?" She asked incredulously, knowing full well that most fathers did not watch their children's births.

"Good God woman!" He cried. "Are you delusional? I did this!" He gestured to her protruding belly. She swallowed a laugh.

Erik felt sick as he watched the calm doctor work. All he could do was sit beside Evie and hold her hand for support. She had descended into full agony moments before. Her sisters and mother waited in the parlor below for news. The wedding reception went on at Evie's request.

Poor Evie writhed as another violent contraction came. A small voice came unbidden into the back of Erik's mind. _Your monster child could be doing this to her…_

Terror crept coldly into his heart, as his thoughts began to run away with him. He envisioned a child who looked like him coming out of Evie…or even worse than him…it was too horrible to bear—

"Don't even think it." Evie cut in, seeming to read his thoughts.

"What?" He asked.

"Our child is perfect. No matter _what._" Her eyes narrowed at him. Dumbly, he nodded.

"She's ready." The Doctor said to the nurse.

"Ready for what?" Erik asked weakly. The Doctor smiled kindly.

"To push." Before he could ask how, Evie let out a primal sound and wretched forward, her forehead plastered with sweat. He held fast to her hand. This continued a few more times before Erik heard the doctor say,

"I can see the head. Dark hair." Overwhelmed with the need to push, Evie tensed again, her eyes closing. Erik couldn't bear to look down between her legs.

"The head is out!" Evie fell back for a moment, trying to gather her strength.

"Is it the size of a toddler?" She asked breathless. The doctor chuckled.

"Actually, it seems to be a rather petite child. Focus my dear. We must get the shoulders out now." He said firmly, but kindly. Erik slid his arm around her shoulders as she tensed again. Her scream was louder this time, it was obviously the most painful.

"Oh God, oh God…" She moaned, gritting her teeth. The doctor was red, but smiled a moment later.

"Once more Evie!" He cried excitedly. "Once more and your baby will be fully out."

"I…I can't…" She protested wearily, crying. Erik squeezed her hand.

"Almost done." He promised, soothing her and thinking privately that children were not worth all of this pain! Nothing but screaming, crying…

"You have a son!" The doctor said, and the faint blur of the child being cut free from his cord and taken by the nurse to clean him off nearby.

"Is he healthy?" Evie asked, falling back with tears streaming down her tired, sweaty face. She'd never looked more beautiful.

"Oh I'd wager so." The doctor chuckled. "Quite a set of lungs." Erik tried to see around the nurse frantically where he heard the child crying. Evie squeezed his hand.

"A boy, Erik! Perhaps I'm not doomed to have five girls!" He couldn't react. He stared without blinking at the nurse. He hadn't been able to see the baby's face. He had to see it for himself…Then she turned and walked directly to _him!_ Carefully, she placed the swaddled baby into his arms and Erik was shocked at how small his son really was. Breathing deeply, he pulled back the blanket to search for the imperfections. The only thing he saw was the face of the perfect little cherub staring up at him. A thick thatch of black hair adorned his head, though his eyes were dark blue as all babies' eyes tended to be. It wasn't until he sniffed that he realized he was crying. Gently, he laid the baby in Evangeline's arms so that she could adore the products of her labor.

"He looks just like you." She said thickly. He only nodded, unable to speak. Turning to the baby she nodded. "You are so beautiful…just like your father." She whispered. "And we are going to love you so much…my beautiful boy…but what to name you?"

"Charles." Erik said, finding his voice. "His name is Charles." Evie looked up at him with understanding eyes.

"Charles Remus Erik Destler." She said.

"Perfect." Erik reached out to touch the thick black hair of his baby. He could not stop staring at him. Gingerly, he took him back from Evie, cradling him instinctively. "

* * *

Bianca crowded around the new baby's cradle with her four sisters. To her right was Evie in her nightgown, russet colored hair loose and on her left was Fern, still in her wedding clothes, ready to leave for her new house with Dag. Across from them were Bethany and Cadence.

"Look at his little toes…and all that hair!" Fern breathed. "He's like a little doll."

"Are we going to call him Charlie?" Bianca asked. Evie rolled her eyes.

"As if Erik Destler would allow his son to be called _Charlie._" She said with a laugh. "He will most definitely be called Charles."

"You are positively the most adorable mother I have ever seen." Cadence said, kissing Evie's cheek. Bethany mocked glaring at her older sister.

"You said that when _I _gave birth!"

"I lied." Cadence said dryly, hugging her sister to let her know she was only teasing. "Only two of us left to reproduce."

"Well," Fern said with a sigh, "I should go…Dag said he got the new house all ready…"

"And our little Fern…_married!_" Bethany said, drawing the sixteen year old into a crushing hug.

"Let go of me you dolt!" Fern cried muffled against her sisters shoulder. Bianca stood slightly away from the rest of them, smiling contentedly. Her cheeks flushed as she thought of new mothers and her sweet new nephew. Instinctively, she hugged her arms around herself thinking of Ansel, who was speaking with Dag and Erik near the doorway. Turning slightly, she met his fair eyes. He smiled warmly, coming away from the two and putting his arms around her.

"You look tired." He murmured, pressing his lips to her temple.

"Mmm." She replied, closing her eyes. "Exhausted." He drew back to look down at her and raised an eyebrow.

"Are you alright, love?"

"Fine." She said gently, with a yawn. "What do you think of Charles?"

"He's a lovely child. Erik is completely giddy like a schoolboy. I hope I don't get that sappy when we have children." He stated firmly. She smirked.

"You will, of course. Only you'll be worse," She chuckled. "Especially if it's a girl."

"You talk like you know." He teased.

"I know _you_ well enough." She agreed.

"But you know," He went on, taking her hand in his. She noticed the wicked glint in his eyes. "I sort of like it being just us, right now…" Bianca stared at him for a moment and then, she couldn't help it, her face fell.

"Oh." She said, letting go of his hand and moving into the hall outside the room. Ansel followed, upset.

"Did I upset you?" He asked, horrified. "I didn't mean to, I swear, I…"

"No." She lied, biting her lip to keep it from trembling. "I'm fine." Her voice broke.

"Bianca…" He soothed, turning her around and pulling her into his chest. "I-I don't know what I did, sweetheart." She shook her head quickly.

"Y-you said, you liked it better just being us…" She whispered, a feeling of despair into her chest.

"And that's…bad?"

"It is when it's not going to _be _just us anymore!" She blurted, quieting in horror. Ansel did not seem to grasp the meaning for a moment.

"I don't…not just us? Are we having a guest?"

"No Ansel," She said, angry now. "We're having a _baby_." Furiously, she pointed into the nursery. "You _see _him? Well, come winter, we'll have one of those!" She turned away from him haughtily, crossing her arms.

"You're pregnant?" He asked, catching up with her.

"_Yes!_" She hissed through her teeth and to her fury, he began to laugh at her! "_Why_ are you laughing?"

"Oh my darling." He said, wiping the tears from his eyes from laughing and taking her hands again. "You are so infinitely adorable when you're angry. Why didn't you just tell me to begin with?"

"I didn't think you'd like the idea." She said, feeling like a fool.

"How could I not want a child with you, Bianca?" He stroked her cheek affectionately, still smiling calmly at her.

"How are you so nonchalant about this? I'm terrified!" She exclaimed.

"I knew it was going to happen sooner or later, dear…in fact, I've been waiting for it."

"You have?" She asked.

"Bianca," He chuckled, kissing her. "We haven't exactly been careful…"

"And you're happy about this?"

"Of course I am." Brushing a dark strand from her face, he added, "I even love your bloody temper." She growled, but it was cut off by him kissing her fiercely. "I love you, Bianca." He whispered raggedly. "Let's go home."

"Lets." She agreed weakly. "But, I'm not ready to tell anyone about…you know, the baby."

"I won't say a word." He promised, never letting go of her hand as they walked into the room again to inform everyone that they were leaving.

* * *

"Alone, at last." Erik said, sinking into the bed and savoring the feel of his aching limbs falling into rest. Evie barely looked awake, but she had a blissful smile on her face. It was quite funny actually. The baby slept in a cradle beside their bed, and would for the first few months of his life. Come to think of it, the thought of him ever sleeping across the hall made Erik very uncomfortable. Then again, the thought of a fully grown boy sleeping between his parents was unthinkable. Children. They changed people.

"Go to sleep, Erik." Evie murmured, keeping her eyes closed. Erik turned on his side to face her.

"Oh!" He said, remembering. "I forgot to give you this in all of the chaos today." He sat up and took an envelope off of his night table. She looked at him tiredly, and took it from him.

"What is this?" She asked, hoarse.

"Open it." He said, smiling at her. She pulled herself up into a sitting position and gently tore the envelope open.

"Dear Monsieur Leroux," She read aloud, her eyes flickering over to Erik, "We are pleased to inform you that we would like to publish _The Phantom of the Opera_." Her eyes widened and a small smile broke onto her lovely face.

"I knew it would be published." He said, teasing her. "You were so worried over nothing!"

"It's different." She said, pursing her lips. "This is my masterpiece. _This,_" She said, holding up the letter, "Is why _we're_ here right now. Why _he_ is here." Looking at Charles in the cradle beside her, she smiled.

"I wish I could make love to you right now…" Erik said, pulling her closer. Her satin cheek rubbed against his chest.

"Two weeks." She said with a laugh. "I couldn't possibly if I wanted to right now anyway, love. I'd fall asleep."

"Well that doesn't bode well for my sexual prowess." Erik quipped. She giggled, yawning. He laid them both down, with her drawn against him. "Ah well," He said, "We'd better both try to get some sleep. Lord knows we won't have much." A grin came to him as he saw the slight stirring of the baby. A small whine emerged from him. When he looked down, Evie was already fast asleep. With a chuckle, he rose and drew the covers over her. Moving around the bed, he gazed down at the infant, who was now wide awake. Ever so carefully, Erik picked up his son, nuzzling the softness of his thick black hair and sat with him near the fireplace.

"Charles…let me tell you a story…" He began, looking once more at Evie. "Once upon a time, there was a young novelist…"

**One more to go….the true Epilogue.**


	20. Epilogue

"Just a bit to the left, dear." Evie said, looking up at two of her children.

"Maman!" One of them whined, "Charles doesn't care if his welcome home sign is straight!" Evie smirked watching her daughters bicker.

"Julienne, stop being such a baby." Claire said, rolling her eyes and tossing her black hair.

"I'm not a baby! Maman!" Julienne sniffed.

"That looks fine, love." Evie assured her. The two girls hurried down the stairs to admire their work. Evie hugged them to her sides.

Thirteen year old Claire and twelve year old Julienne were just ten months apart, so naturally, they were very close. Madeleine and Isabella were eighteen and sixteen respectively, so they were closest and sweet little copper haired Esme, who was just seven was the one usually left out, so Charles had to come to her rescue. Charles was a sweet, unselfish boy who was unnaturally good at heart. He was coming home for his twenty-first birthday after a year touring Europe.

Turning, Evie saw Maddie and Bella coming into the room.

"Oh good! Bella, could you go into the playroom and get Esme up from her nap? Poor thing could barely sleep last night, she was so excited about Charles coming home." Bella nodded and left without a protest as Maddie joined her and ruffled Julienne's hair.

"It looks good, I'm sure Charles will love it." She assured the younger girls. Reaching out, Evie smoothed down her oldest daughter's fiery locks. Maddie sighed.

"It's so wild…I don't know what to do with all of these curls. I'm the only one!"

"Sorry love, you were cursed to look exactly like me." Evie laughed.

"There isn't anything wrong with that." Erik said, walking into the house and setting his cloak and hat aside. In three strides he was at Evie's side as he placed a kiss on her lips. Bella and Esme appeared, Esme running straight into her father's arms.

"Everything set?" He asked, pulling the child up into the air and sitting her on his hip.

"Yes, Papa." Claire said proudly. "The table is set and the food is ready."

"The guests should be arriving soon, love." Evie said, trying in vain to fix Julienne's rumpled dress.

"Good. Now all we have to do is wait." He laughed, setting Esme down and patting Bella on the head. Sure enough, he hadn't even finished the sentence when the doorbell rang. Erik opened it himself, being the closest and greeted the Holden family.

"Dag!" He said jovially, pulling the man inside and slapping him on the back.

"Erik." Dag replied, shaking his hand. Fern walked in behind him with a bundled up toddler in her arms.

"Fern!" Evie cried happily. "Little Marcus is getting so big!" She took the toddler from her sister, eyeing her slightly round belly.

"It's the last time, I swear." Fern muttered, seeing her sister's expression as she removed her coat and gloves. Dag took them dutifully, after seeing to the other two children first. The Holden children were fairly young since their parents had waited seven years after marrying to have them. Fern had been twenty-three when her daughter Lillian was born. Followed directly by Jane and then Lucy two years after that. Three more years had passed before she realized she was expecting her fourth child, which would actually end up being her fourth _and _fifth, twins named Giselle and Nora. Finally, they had gotten their little boy with Marcus three years after that and nearly six months earlier, Fern had found out she was expecting another. Seven children. Evie had to laugh. She had their parents beat by two! Evie herself had six children, but the two of them seemed the only two to over reproduce. Bianca had three, two boys and a girl and her older sisters hadn't had any children since their last were born. Needless to say, family gatherings were a madhouse.

Ansel and Bianca arrived next with their children. Cadence and Bethany sent their love, but had long since moved to Orleans and England. Finally, Christine and Raoul arrived with their three children, Lotte, Gustave and Emmeline. Raoul had recently become the Comte when his father passed on and Gustave had inherited the title of Vicomte de Chagny at seventeen years old. Claire had an adorable schoolgirl crush on him, though he hardly noticed, infatuated with Madeleine, who was a year older than him. She thought of him as a little brother. Gustave looked precisely like Raoul right down to the specific light shade of brown his hair was.

"Christine!" Evie cried happily, putting her arms gingerly around her friend's neck for an embrace.

"Oh, Evie. It has been a long time. What with Lotte's wedding coming up soon, it's been hectic at the Chagny household."

"Hmmpf." Raoul said, his eyes flickering to his oldest child. Her golden curls tumbled down her back like a waterfall.

"Now Daddy…" Lotte said soothingly to her father.

"I know I know." He grumbled, crossing his arms. "You're old enough to decide what you want."

"Right." She grinned at him, kissing his cheek.

"Hello Maddie." Gustave said shyly. Maddie turned, surprised and smiled at him.

"Bonjour Gustave." She noticed Claire's sour look and took her younger sister by the shoulders. "You remember my sister Claire." He nodded politely and shook Claire's hand before walking away. Claire sighed.

"One day, sweetheart." Maddie assured her with a laugh.

"One day _soon_." Bella added, as a blush came to her pale cheeks.

"Well," Claire said haughtily. "By then I'll be an old maid." Evie had to laugh at Claire's melodramatic personality. She seemed to take right after her Aunt Bethany. In fact, all five of her daughters seemed to mirror her own childhood. Bella was exactly like Bianca, shy and sweet…Maddie was like Cadence, the maternal one. Esme was exactly like Fern, precocious and adorable and Julienne was like Evie…inquisitive and independent.

"Oh Evie." Christine said, a mischievous glint in her chocolate brown eyes. "Did you read the paper today?"

"No…we've been so busy…" Evie began, noticing the smirk on Erik's lips. "What?" He drew from his inside pocket the paper.

_Lord Remy Takes a New Wife_

_Lord Christophe Remy remarried last evening to his nurse. Lord Remy is nearing eighty now, and his nurse claims to have fallen in love with him despite the nearly sixty year age difference. One can only hope that the new Lady Remy doesn't go the way her predecessor went. Those of you who remember, Cressida Remy was found dead in her bedroom with a poisoned glass of liquor beside her almost twenty-two years ago. It was named a suicide. We certainly wish Lord and Lady Remy all the happiness in the world. _

Evie smiled, handing the paper back to her husband.

"That old devil is going to live forever. I hope she knows that." Erik nodded wickedly.

"How fitting that his fortune tripled right after Cressida's death. It is amazing how far a bit of patronage can go." He mused, winking at Christine. "Come on you all…let's retire to the parlor to wait for Charles." Taking his arm, Evie felt completely at ease as she listened to her daughters bicker amongst themselves. Claire sulked near her parents while the other girls grouped with their cousins and the Chagnys in a nearby corner. Gustave sat, interacting politely with his parents and their friends.

"It's getting late." Evie frowned, noting the sky becoming darker.

"He'll be here." Fern assured, wrangling her toddler. Helpfully, Dag plucked him up and swung him into the air. The little boy giggled. Sure enough, the sound of the front door, followed by male voices came into the room. Claire looked up hopefully at her mother. Evie nodded and stood as well. Evie's heart skipped as her handsome son stepped into the room. He grinned at his parents.

Mother." He said striding to Evie and enveloping her in an embrace. He moved next to Erik, hugging him quickly. "Dad."

"Charles." Erik said with a smile.

"I would have been here sooner," He apologized, "But there was a delay in our carriage and…" He trailed off, looking past Erik's shoulder. The room had gone quiet. Evie turned to follow his gaze to the group of his sisters, cousins and the Chagny girls.

"Charles?" Evie asked gently. He brushed past his father toward the girls and dutifully hugged his sisters and cousins before turning to Lotte de Chagny and politely kissing her hand.

"Congratulations on your betrothal, Lotte, my friend." He said warmly before finally turning to Emmeline. "My goodness Emmy." A new sort of tone had come into his voice, it was bordering on awestruck. "The last time I saw you…you were but a child." Oblivious, the girl blinked in bemusement.

"Hmm, yes." She said, "It is a shame, isn't it? All of us have to grow up, don't we?" Shrugging, she smiled innocently. "Ah well, good to see you Charles." Patting his arm, she turned back to her sisters. He shook his head quickly, composing himself before turning to the rest of the family and murmuring his greetings.

"I hope you don't mind, Mother, but I invited Tris over for supper tonight. He's cleaning up." Looking up at her husband, Erik nodded approvingly. Tristan was Charles's closest friend in school and his family was not the warmest of people. He often joined the Destlers. Tris was a good looking boy with bronze colored hair and green eyes. His mother was a beautiful Irish woman and his father was an English Marquis.

"Charles, you know Tris is always welcome." Erik assured him. A moment later, Tris entered the room, cool, collected, the very epitome of class as he smiled at Evie and Erik.

"Mrs. Destler." She grinned at the English and hugged him maternally.

"_Mr._ Coolidge." She teased. He nodded at Erik, shaking his hand.

"Monsieur Destler."

"Good to see you Tris." Erik said gesturing for him to make himself comfortable. Tris smiled at the girls, who had all surrounded him. There wasn't a girl Tris knew that wasn't enthralled with him.

Except for one.

Evie smirked as she noticed Bella reading in a chair near the hearth, unaware of why everyone would stampede over to Tris.

"Hello Bella!" Tris called jovially.

"_Bonjour_ Monsieur Coolidge!" She replied, not looking up from her book. For the smallest of moments, Evie saw Tris frown.

It was then than she realized this wasn't the perfect ending to her story. It was the beginning of many more.

Charles had never looked at a girl the way he'd just done with Emmy.

Tris's rakish ego had been deflated by sweet Bella's innocent rejection.

And no one would ever love Gustave, Viscount de Chagny like Claire Destler did.

Stories were everywhere, if one only had the desire to look for them.

Evie smiled, holding her husbands hand and thinking of the blank parchment that awaited her on the desk in her parlor upstairs.


End file.
